For All That You Are
by rewritetheending
Summary: After two more close calls and the beginning of a confession, Kate can't deny her feelings for Castle any longer. Still, diving into something new with her best friend and partner isn't as easy at she'd like it to be. This is a journey through the end of season three and how the C/B relationship might have developed if Kate had broken up with Josh after Countdown.
1. Countdown

You've already won me over in spite of me  
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet  
And don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are  
I couldn't help it  
It's all your fault _  
_Alanis Morissette - "Head Over Feet"

The sun has been up for a while, eagerly announcing its presence through an opening in the curtains she hadn't properly closed the night before. Kate's significantly less interested in rising, her bed offering layers of warmth and comfort for a body that still aches with a bone-deep chill. It's been just over 24 hours since she and Castle were pulled from the freezer, but she can't seem to get warm enough; she imagines he is having the same problem, and the acknowledgement of their shared trauma is oddly soothing.

Further complicating her ability to roll out of bed is the emotional hangover that reliably follows a break-up, no matter how overdue. After Josh had showed up at the precinct the previous afternoon, she'd held him close and watched while Castle had slipped out of reach, whatever he'd been about to say lost to the arrival of another man. Castle had left gracefully, even with the obvious weight resting upon his shoulders, unwilling to crack jokes about her relationship so soon after she'd confessed her doubts about it; his quiet goodbye had only made it more clear that she didn't want to be apart from him at all.

She'd sighed into Josh's chest and passed it off as relief, allowing him to believe in them for a bit longer. Then they'd returned to her apartment where she'd ended things as quickly and respectfully as possible, offering him the simple explanation that, while she really liked him, she didn't want to waste his time while she kept one foot out the door. A predictable range of emotions had followed; most notably, the frustration he'd expressed over postponing his trip to Haiti had made her even more certain that breaking up was the best decision for both of them. He would be free to focus on his medical missions, and she would be free to focus on…everything she wasn't quite ready to put into words.

Words were not _her_ domain.

She'd been on the receiving end of a few terse accusations as he hurriedly gathered some of the belongings stashed in her apartment and she promised to box the rest and hold them until he returned to the city, but in the end, they were both able to hold their heads high and say a polite farewell. She hadn't had the energy to manage even a hot bath or a glass of wine after he'd left, choosing instead to wrap herself in too many blankets and sleep it off.

Now she's curled on her side and staring at the phone that rests on her nightstand; she reaches for it before she can second-guess her decision, quickly typing out a text. She considers it a success when she deletes only two attempts at a witty greeting, before finally settling on something simple.

 _ **Morning, Castle.**_

As usual, he responds immediately, never one to keep her waiting. _**Morning, Beckett. Don't tell me the world needs to be saved again. I'm not sure I can get my tights and cape back from the dry cleaner's in time.**_

In the privacy of her bedroom, she doesn't even attempt to hide the ridiculous smile she feels pulling at her cheeks. _**Nope, we still have the day off. Do you have plans?**_

 _ **None at all. You?**_

Subconsciously drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she taps out another message. _**Well, I could really use a trip to the comfort food truck today.**_

She hopes the subtext is clear, that he remembers the last time they specifically sought out comfort food together was when he broke up with Gina. At some point she'll explain, but right now she's just emotional enough to dodge the conversation. The longer it takes him to text back, the more likely it is that he understands, but she's still strangely nervous about what he'll say, staring at her phone while she unknowingly holds her breath.

 _ **I'd be happy to return that particular favor. Just tell me when.**_

Her exhale is heavy with relief and hope, and they make arrangements to meet for lunch. She's confident that Castle has strong feelings for her; even if he'd managed to hide them behind an allegedly fake kiss, they had been written all over his face before he'd wrapped his hand around the wires of a bomb. And she's finally willing to admit that she wants him just as much, having fallen for her best friend sometime between finding him standing over a dead body and saving Manhattan by his side. She knows she won't be able to jump into it with him, regardless of how much she wishes she could, but taking this baby step feels almost as satisfying.

* * *

Kate tugs the knit cap over her head and fights back the shiver rolling outward from her core. It's probably as much from the anticipation of her lunch date with Castle as from the early-March weather or a freezer-bound flashback, but she's still grateful for the thick sweater, wool coat, and scarf she donned before she left her apartment. Until she's brave enough to curl into his embrace, driven more by honesty than by hypothermic desperation, this will have to do.

Her heart jumps at the sight of him, her stomach fluttering like she's a teenager again, but she smiles at how handsome he is, leaning against a building with his hands in his pockets and an uncharacteristically shy grin directed her way. It almost drives her to stand on her tiptoes and kiss it away.

Almost.

Instead, she nods toward the truck parked a dozen feet away. "Hungry?"

"Absolutely."

They say little as they get their food, then walk a couple of blocks to a park where they can sit down and eat side by side. Her grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup are exactly what she needs to counter the cold air around her; the warm laughter that bubbles inside her when she sees Castle attempt to shovel a still-steaming bite of macaroni and cheese into his mouth helps her feel even better. His reaction to the burn on his tongue is wonderfully ridiculous, his wide eyes and wildly waving hand causing her to shake her head in pure delight.

"You think this is funny, Beckett?" he sputters.

"I think you've ordered mac and cheese enough times to know that it comes out pretty hot." She reaches toward the bowl resting on his lap, coming back with a spoonful for herself. "First, it's not a contest to see how much you can heap into one bite. Take a little less and it will cool faster. Second, bring it to your mouth and blow on it. That'll help, too."

He seems stunned as she demonstrates, staring at her mouth when she swallows and following the swipe of her tongue over her lips. But as enchanted as he clearly is, he also recovers quickly. Just as she returns to her sandwich and lifts it for another bite, he leans forward and helps himself.

"Quid pro quo," he teases around the mouthful of food.

Falling into a comfortable silence, they enjoy their lunches – no longer stealing bites from each other – and watch the few people outside in the middle of a winter weekday. When they're done, Castle gets up to dispose of their trash, sitting further away on the bench when he returns. It immediately tips her off to his decision to address the elephant in the room. Or at least his acknowledgment that one exists.

"So, I guess you didn't get to do much more celebrating after I left last night."

"Hmmm, no. We didn't stick around the precinct much longer." She sighs and her gaze drops to the ground in front of them, quiet for several seconds before she continues. "We went back to my place and talked. I suggested he spend his time and energy on the things that matter most in his life. He replied that I should stop kidding myself and do the same in mine."

"Stop kidding yourself?" Castle asks, the confusion obvious in his question.

She shoots him one brave look, all the answers there for him to see. Then she shutters the truth and looks away again. "Anyway, he left quietly enough."

"You could've called me last night if you'd needed a friend."

"I know. I just didn't really feel like talking about it."

He nudges her with his shoulder. "And still don't."

That makes her smile again, the fact that he knows her well enough that he won't push for more. "Still don't."

When he stands and offers his hand, she takes it without hesitation and allows him to lead her away. She has no idea where he plans to take her, but she finds that she doesn't care at all. She's ready to follow.

* * *

They end up at a bookstore she's probably walked by a million times, but has never stopped into for some reason or another. She likes it immediately, finding it to be in the Goldilocks zone of not too vast and ostentatious, yet not too cluttered and intimate either. By unspoken agreement, they split up and she happily wanders past shelf after shelf of heaven, willing to get lost in words she's yet to read.

She spends a decent amount of time browsing biographies and memoirs, forever curious about other people's lives, even if she doesn't pry as overtly as Castle. Then she browses another section, finding a gorgeous baseball anthology that she can give her dad on his next birthday. That decision quickly sparks the realization that Castle's birthday is only a month away, and there must be some wonderful gift ideas surrounding her if she just gives it some thought. Quickly scoping out the store, she finds her partner thoroughly distracted by a book he's picked up in the YA section; she's confident that he won't be looking for her anytime soon, so she sets off on her treasure hunt.

With no concrete plan, she taps her fingertips along shelves as she winds her way through the bookstore until she stumbles upon something so perfect for him that she breaks into a relieved smile. She stops for a moment, concerned that he may already own it, but she doesn't remember seeing it in his office and duplicate books aren't necessarily a terrible problem to have. Shrugging to herself, she picks up his present and walks toward the cashier. It's on her way there that a second gift possibility catches her eye – for reasons she's entirely unwilling to dissect right now – so she adds it to her pile as she hurries to make her purchases and calm her over-eager heart.

The books are barely tucked into a large bag, her receipt in hand, when Castle's head pops over her shoulder. "Hey, big spender. Whatcha got there?"

"A present for my dad and a couple of other things that caught my eye." His warm breath against her ear and the press of his body, aligned perfectly with hers, are far too distracting. She spins to redirect his attention, giving herself a chance to regroup. "And what do you have?"

He holds the books up for her to see before he sets them on the counter for the cashier. "It's a series Alexis and her friends have been talking about for quite a while. I figured I should probably jump on the bandwagon and see what the fuss is all about."

"Well, you'll have to let me know what you think. If they're good, maybe I can borrow them from you."

The look on his face is one of both pleasure and surprise. "I'd be happy to share."

Castle finishes paying, then gestures to the café attached to the store. It's unnecessary for him to ask, nor does she need to answer, so they make their way toward the familiar scent of coffee and a much appreciated caffeine fix. Once they have one hand curled around their cups and the other carrying their books, they leave the cocoon of the building for the chilly Manhattan streets, heading in the direction of her apartment. It's not far and they arrive all too soon; though part of her longs for the solitude that she holds dear, the last few hours have settled her in a way she hadn't fully recognize she needed.

It launches an internal debate about whether she should invite him up or leave well enough alone. She's enjoying his company more than a little, but she also recognizes the selfishness of asking too much of him when she isn't ready to give it all back. She'll get there – she's intent on them eventually becoming _them_ – but it won't happen today and she chokes on her hesitance.

Ever observant, Castle doesn't push, giving her an easy out instead. "I should probably head back to the loft, get some writing done before we pick up a new case."

"Sounds good. I'll be back at the precinct early tomorrow, so I'll call you if we get anything." She wants to kiss him goodbye and sees the desire reflected back at her, but she steps backward toward the door with a little wave. "Thanks for today, Castle."

"Thank you for inviting me to lunch."

And in that simple sentence she hears all that he doesn't say: _Thank you for reaching out to me. Thank you for letting me see your smile and your sadness. Thank you for the promise laced through an afternoon spent together._

She smiles and stares at him for an extra moment or two. "You're welcome. For everything."


	2. One Life to Lose

Her paperwork is almost complete, only a few signatures needed before she can put it all away and consider the case to be officially closed, but Kate finds herself distracted – again – by the way she and Castle have been flirting recently. She supposes there is nothing inherently different about their exchanges, but every quirk of his lips, every roll of her eyes, and every moment of repartee between them carries the welcome weight of the afternoon they'd spent together just a few weeks ago. Now there's an undercurrent of _soon_ in everything they say and do, something truly electric and oddly precious happening as they prepare for whatever awaits them.

Undeniable arousal has her shifting in her desk chair as she recalls his comment about conjuring up soapy images and the suggestion that he was picturing her; she couldn't help but do the same, her mind all too willing to supply a fitting fantasy. A night when she'd be in the shower, her own practiced hands coasting over her curves as she'd watch the trail of body wash left behind. He'd surprise her then, joining her in an effort to help or distract or thoroughly derail any progress she'd made, but she'd only pretend to be bothered by the interruption. Her contented moan would give her away soon enough, happy to let him guide her under the water and rinse her hair, and happier still when he'd bite at her neck and start a chain of events that would certainly make them late for their dinner reservation.

She drags herself from that reverie, but immediately slides into another, remembering the moment they'd shared when their theories had been exhausted and he'd suggested they sleep on it, only clarifying after her wide-eyed stare that they'd sleep _separately_. What had startled her was that she'd found herself interested in more than the idea of sex with him, craving the feeling of his arms tucking her into the cove of his resting body _,_ a tired tangle of limbs that she'd generally avoided in past relationships in favor of asserting her independence even overnight. She'd long ago accepted sex with Castle as a near certainty, but the desire to share a bed with him the rest of the night was new, and in that second, she'd realized she wouldn't be afraid of surrendering her personal space to him, confident that he'd reestablish the emotional and physical boundaries whenever she might need them again.

Blinking back more daydreams, she looks up to see him approaching her desk, an envelope in his hand. She's overwhelmed before she even opens it, timidly grateful at the idea of him giving her a present for no reason at all, but she has to fight back a gasp when she sees the autographed Temptation Lane cast photo. The memory is too strong to keep to herself any longer and she practically quivers with it.

He leans forward, curious as always, so she responds with a nervous laugh and a story that she never expected to be sharing with him. She confesses about her tonsils and her mom and their ridiculous marathon of trashy television, but he's seemingly enchanted by her tale. Even when she offers him the opportunity to tease her relentlessly, he dodges it and reassures her instead, steadfast in his support of every facet of her life as it's unveiled to him. Before she can thank him again, he goes on.

"The boys are headed to The Old Haunt for a couple of drinks and I said I'd go with them. You wouldn't want to join us, would you?"

She smiles, bright and honest. "Actually, I'd love to."

* * *

When they arrive, they spot Ryan and Esposito in a booth at the back corner of the bar, beers already in front of them. Castle offers to get her drink if she'd like to go sit down, but her eyes linger a few extra moments as he greets one of his bartenders, his staff's enthusiastic reaction to his presence bringing a proud smile to her face. When she eventually continues across the room and waves to the boys, Espo raises his eyebrows in question but doesn't say anything; she's sure both detectives have figured out that something has changed about the relationship she has with her shadow, but they've been blessedly quiet about it.

By the time Castle strolls over with their beers, she's already shrugged out of both her coat and her suit jacket and slid into the booth. After he sets the bottles on the table, he pauses to remove his jacket, then gives her the added delight of rolling his sleeves up to his elbow. There's no way forearms should have any significant effect on her, but it's difficult not to stare and she draws a long swallow from her beer in an attempt to act normal. This is nothing more than a night out with her friends.

And the man who is entirely more than that.

Within a few minutes, she's feeling decidedly calmer, laughing as Castle teases Esposito about having a new crush on a soap opera actress, in spite of his relationship with Lanie. That reminds them all of Ryan's "freebie five" list, Natalie Rhodes, and the almost-disaster when he'd been preparing to propose to Jenny, so they have fun joking about that for a while. Eventually the conversation comes around to Castle's celebrity crushes, and finally Kate's, so they take their turns coming clean until four empty bottles have the boys going to fetch another round.

"I'm not one of your celebrity crushes?"

Oh. _Oh._ She has not had enough alcohol to properly answer a question like that and she can't even attempt to hide the blush the crawls across her cheeks. "Um, I was just thinking of-I mean, for a long time I-."

He curls his hand around her arm, and that doesn't help at _all_ , his handprint bypassing her shirt and searing her skin. "Hey, Beckett?"

It's only then that she realizes her gaze is locked on his grip, so she takes a deep breath and meets his eyes, forcing as much innocence as she can manage and nodding for him to continue.

"I was just giving you a hard time. You look like you're having flashbacks to a high school pop quiz, but I wasn't expecting an actual answer." He chuckles and pulls his hand away just as Espo and Ryan return with more beer, and she's grateful for the drink she immediately cradles with her palms, the icy bottle a sharp contrast to the warmth she longs to accept from the man next to her.

With the other side of the booth balancing them out once again, they are back to their typical banter and inane discussion of precinct gossip. Castle excitedly asks Ryan whether he and Jenny have set a wedding date yet, and a passionate debate ensues between Espo and Castle about which one of them should be Ryan's best man; Castle points out that he's been through two weddings of his own and would have valuable experience and advice to impart on a nervous young groom, but Esposito simply argues back that Ryan's his damn _partner_.

Two beers down and Kate's suddenly brave enough to lean into him and whisper, "You know, if you're not tied up with best man duties, you'll probably have more free time to spend with your date."

Her tongue intentionally snaps on the last word, the t sound crisp as it falls from her mouth, and it causes him to ramble breathlessly. "Ryan, you should definitely make Espo your best man. He's your brother in blue and I'm just a civilian and I'll be very happy as a guest who can enjoy the ceremony and reception from the comfort of my seat alongside whomever I'm lucky enough to have as my plus one."

Esposito sits back, pleased to have won that battle and ignoring Ryan's stammered disclaimer that he may be forced to use a relative instead. Kate merely looks at Castle, happy to have thrown him in the same way she's been spinning since they arrived at the bar. It's still so new, whatever it is they're doing, her nerves alight and her heart threatening to soar without her, but she's comforted by the idea that she still puts that look on his face; it's the expression she saw before she sauntered away from their first case together, and she won't tire of it any time soon.

"Speaking of my wedding, if I still hope to have one, I should probably get home to Jenny."

Ryan nudges Esposito to let him out of the booth, and Espo moves as he nods in agreement. "Yeah, Lanie's waiting for me, too."

"Next time we have drinks, you guys should invite Jenny and Lanie to join us." The words are out of her mouth before she realizes she's essentially suggesting a triple date, but she does her best to shrug it off. "It would be fun."

She's grateful when the boys don't make a big deal out of it, saying their goodbyes without any of the teasing she probably deserves, then leaving her alone with Castle. He taps the neck of her empty bottle with his, the clink of the glass voicing the question before he does. "One more?"

"Yes, please."

She accepts the new one from him a minute later and watches as he slides into the opposite side of the booth; she's disappointed that his body is no longer next to hers, but can't complain about the view. They make small talk as they drink, groans and grins bandied about when he brings up her mother/daughter soap opera marathon again. Then she playfully scrapes her foot along his shin after he shares a Martha story that leaves him embarrassed and her near tears from laughing so hard. She exchanges it for a mortifying moment of her own, telling him about the time a game she'd played at a teenage slumber party had been wilder than she'd expected and how she'd been unable to look her mom in the eye for days after Johanna had heard about it.

They're having fun and she's certain she could sit with him for hours, trading family stories like this, but her third beer is gone and she has to work in the morning, so she decides to do the responsible thing. "I should probably go home and get some sleep."

Somewhat unexpectedly, he doesn't put up a fight, scooting clear of the table and rising to help her with her jacket and coat instead. She slides her arms through the sleeves and closes her eyes at the shiver that travels the length of her spine when he helps tug her hair clear of the collar. It's intimate in a way that makes her seek more, her back arching toward his touch; if her inhibitions were any lower, she'd almost certainly turn in his arms and allow him to hold her close.

"Will you let me escort you home?"

Telling him he doesn't have to do that is her inclination, never great at accepting anything resembling help, but she knows this is as much for his peace of mind as for any other reason. "Sure, Castle. Thanks."

He finishes putting on his own coat, then waves goodbye to the bartender on their way out. They're able to hail a cab right away, relieved to get out of the cold so quickly, and he rattles off her address as they get settled in the back seat. They fall silent then, looking out their respective windows as the city passes them by, but she has to bite her lip to stop from making a satisfied sound when Castle slips his hand over hers in the small space between them. He doesn't attempt to thread his fingers between hers, drawing some sort of line he won't force her to cross, but it's a comfort nonetheless and a connection she's loath to break when they eventually pull up to her building.

She's not surprised at all when he asks the driver to wait a minute so he can walk her to the door – nervous, yes, but not surprised – and she shuffles across the sidewalk while he catches up to her.

"Thank you, Kate, for coming out with me tonight. I had a lot of fun…even later in the evening, when you were far too amused at my expense."

"Ah, come on now. You weren't exactly silent when I was sharing my own embarrassing stories."

He nods and glances over his shoulder at the cab. "So…I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Mmmhmm. And I'm sorry I didn't mention you as a celebrity crush earlier," she whispers. Then, with a burst of courage or stupidity, she steps forward to kiss his cheek and breathe against his skin. "But that would have been a massive understatement."

She reaches for the door, a shy smile adorning her face as he can do nothing but stumble backward toward the waiting cab, struck dumb by her confession. It's still not everything he deserves to know, but she promises herself she'll get there.


	3. Law & Murder

It doesn't take Kate long to realize she's been duped, that Castle is very, _very,_ familiar with _Forbidden Planet_.

She just can't find it in herself to care.

His eagerness alone might not have been enough to tip her off. After all, she'd expect most nine-year-olds with the promise of a sugar rush to have an extra bounce in their steps, silly grins plastered across their faces. The fact that Castle seemed excited to go to the movies was not particularly notable. When he used part of a quote from the movie in their casual conversation on the way to the theater, she did a bit of a double take, but was still able to write it off as coincidence. It was only when he slipped up and mentioned Leslie Nielsen's character's name that she was sure; he was no stranger to the movie, despite pretending otherwise so he could innocently enjoy her enthusiasm.

It reminds her of his return to the precinct, only six months ago, when she'd allowed him to believe that he'd solved their counterfeiting case. As was true then, she supposes the little white lie is worth it if it means they get to spend more time together.

When they arrive at the Angelika, he collects the candy and popcorn she'd promised him, along with a soda large enough for them to share. But do they do that now? Share drinks while on a movie date? And, _oh, wow_ , that's what this is. It's an actual date. She can excuse their comfort food and bookstore excursion as being two friends hanging out when one had needed company. Certainly Lanie could have replaced Castle and given her that same, wonderful afternoon, right? And their night at The Old Haunt doesn't _really_ count, not with Ryan and Esposito there for most of it.

But this? Just the two of them at a movie theater at night with popcorn that she'll definitely steal and a soda that she's all too willing to share? It's a date.

Fortunately, he startles her from her spiral, bumping his shoulder against hers to get her attention. "I think I've got enough to feed a small army. Ready to go inside?"

He lets her pick out their seats and sits with the snacks piled in his lap, the soda placed in the armrest between them. She gets comfortable alongside him, reminding herself that this is Castle and they've been in life or death situations that have warranted the kind of apprehension she's currently battling; sitting in a dark movie theater with her partner and best friend is no reason to be anxious. Reaching into the bucket of popcorn, she smiles at him, blinks away whatever ridiculous fear she has, and carefully places a single piece onto the tip of her tongue. When she draws it into her mouth, slowly sucking the salt and butter from her fingertips as she swallows, it has exactly the effect she'd intended; she studiously avoids reacting to the exaggerated drop of Castle's jaw.

Ah, yes. Back to flirting. Flirting she can do.

"That was my popcorn. You just-that shouldn't be so-"

The lights dim then, saving him the trouble of finishing his sentence and making her stifle her laughter with the back of her hand.

* * *

There are probably twenty minutes left in the movie when the last of the candy is gone, the popcorn finished before that. They'd easily shared both the food and drink, and she'd refrained from any additional teasing while they focused on the screen in front of them, but now Castle is moving and she attempts to be nonchalant while she figures out what he's doing.

He's fidgeting in the same way he has a million times before – usually after being told to stay quiet during an interrogation or to wait for a crime scene to be cleared – his foot tapping and his shoulders rolling. There's something he wants, his entire body tense and nearly vibrating with the desire that has yet to be set free, but perhaps it's something that can wait until the credits have rolled. She's just barely given up on the mystery and turned her attention back to the movie when she feels the warm press of his palm against her knee.

Oh, Castle.

She's known for a while now that he's not quite the philanderer of his reputation, but he still has enough experience with women that she's surprised by how hesitant he is in his attempt to _touch_ her. And then it strikes her – sadly, not for the first time – that she's been so wrapped up in her own insecurities that she hasn't stopped to consider anything from his point of view. It's likely that he has tried and failed with his own silly, stupid heart as many times as she with hers. There's no doubt that he's aware of what's developing between them, and he may be just as terrified at the prospect of losing the friendship they've worked so hard to build.

Her eye roll is missed by the fictional characters in front of her and the wonderful man sitting at her side. She and Castle are being utterly absurd, behaving like children with first crushes instead of grown adults who should know how to move forward with a relationship.

But that's their biggest challenge, isn't it? They've been stunted in that area for a while now, kissing or altogether reuniting with exes, eating fancy dinners with companions they ignored, engaging in a meaningless fling with an actress, and wasting time on a doomed dalliance with another detective. The several months she spent with Josh were the closest to something real, but she has trouble giving that relationship weight when so many private moments were spent with Castle's name a breath away.

With the movie still playing, there's nothing to do but meet him halfway, so she slides her hand beneath his until their palms kiss and their fingers lace. He relaxes in her grip, his exhale obvious, and she smiles into the darkness. Maybe neither of them is ready to go charging into this thing, but neither of them need to be. Continuing to move forward is enough.

* * *

It's no surprise that their forward motion walks them right through the front door of Remy's, sends them winding between tables, and leaves them sitting quite happily in a booth along the far window of the diner. She'd teased him about going to the restaurant when he'd first asked about it at the precinct, but they both knew she was at least as addicted to the cheeseburgers and fries as he was. Topping off the meal with a milkshake is rather gluttonous given their candy haul at the movies, but she isn't about to pass on a second dessert; the stomachache will be totally worth it.

They manage to eat even as they get lost in a passionate discussion about _Forbidden Planet_ and its lasting effect on the sci-fi world, which leads them to ranking the _Star Wars_ movies and picking sides in _Star Trek_ fans' Kirk versus Picard debate, but as the amount of food dwindles and the conversation slows, entirely different questions seek answers. It's been such a light-hearted evening, and she considers forcing her concern aside, but if she does-

"Kate? You okay? You kinda zoned out there."

"Oh, sorry. I was-" Hell, he's already figured out that something's on her mind. There's really no point in backtracking, so she straightens up, her back pressed against the dark red vinyl as she forces herself to meet his eyes. "You were suspicious of Alexis yesterday, so you downloaded an app and tracked her phone."

"Yes. Haven't we been over this?" he sighs. "I was concerned because I thought she was lying – which she was, if you recall – so I attempted to keep an eye on the situation in the least intrusive way possible."

She nods unhappily. "But she's a really great kid. She's never given you a reason not to trust her, and you basically spied on her. Why couldn't you go about it differently? Like, I don't know, actually try _talking_ to her?"

"In hindsight, you're right; I probably should've handled it differently. But why is this bothering you so much? I know you like my daughter, and I'm eternally grateful for that, but you and I have had a great night together and now you look like I just stole the last of your French fries." He reaches for her plate then, but the joke falls flat and he looks hurt; a hand comes up to scrub the frustration away. "Okay, what's this really about, Beckett?"

"I guess I'm just wondering if that's your M.O. when it comes to the people you love."

He sits back with a thud, sudden understanding washing over his face, and she knows she's given too much away with the end of that sentence. Her face burns with it, her hands clumsy in her lap, and she wants nothing more than to bite her bold, betraying tongue. He can have her fries and whatever else he wants if he'll just let her walk away without another word.

She suggests as much. "Never mind. Just forget I said anything, Castle."

"No can do. We've come this far, and I hate to think that you'll be tossing and turning tonight with half the story." He leans forward to slurp the remainder of his shake through the straw, pouts a little that it's gone, then settles back once more. "So because of what I did to Alexis, you're worried that I have a habit of tracking, snooping, spying, or otherwise not trusting the people I love?"

"Or people you care about a lot."

"Like people with whom I might be in long-term romantic relationships?"

She closes her eyes, another wave of embarrassment seizing her. "Yes."

Castle reaches for her hand and tugs it across the table, any nervousness about touching her apparently left in their seats at the Angelika. "I screwed up with the Alexis thing. It's that simple. She's a great, great kid and I've been so lucky with her, but I'm a dad and I panicked about my not-so-little girl. As much as I'd love to be the perfect father, I realized many years ago that no such person exists, and I'm still fumbling my way through this thing called parenthood. Anyway, I should have talked to her, but I screwed up."

"With regard to other important people in my life…well, I'm pretty sure you can tell how well that might have gone over with Gina. Had I been caught even _thinking_ about spying on her, she would have ripped my balls from my body and left them in the street. And you, my dear, sweet, docile detective?" Kate raises her eyebrow, the menacing arch contradicting his description. "I don't think you'd stop there. I've seen what you can do in heels."

She laughs at that and really doesn't need to hear anymore – he's more than addressed her concern – but then he surprises her by continuing.

"In hindsight, I should have tried _something_ with Meredith. Not spying on her, of course, but I should have asked more questions, forced an honest conversation. I was suspicious of her for a very long time, but I wrapped myself so tightly in denial that some part of me still succeeded in being shocked when I found out she was having an affair with her director."

An overwhelming mix of anger and sorrow kicks her in the gut, and she can do little but squeeze the hand that's still joined with hers in the middle of the table. She's hurt on his behalf, and the fact that it happened years ago doesn't seem to make it sting any less. It's new to her.

"Castle, I had no idea," she whispers.

"Well, it's not something I brag about often." He offers a soft smile, tries to make her feel better, even when it should be the other way around. "And really, my point in bringing it up is to reassure you that, no, what I did to Alexis is not my M.O. when it comes to the women I love. Past or present."

She ducks her head even as she looks up at him with an expression she's certain is saying more than she'd like. In response, Castle releases her hand and pulls out his wallet to take care of the check; it's late and they both know she has to be up early tomorrow morning. Silently, they slip out of the booth and shrug their jackets on, then he guides her from the diner with a gentle hand to the small of her back. It wasn't easy, but she's glad they talked. She can only hope it's something that will carry on as they move from being friends to being so much more.

They've just stepped outside, the spring breeze greeting them with a cool hello, when she turns toward him. It makes sense for them to go their separate ways now, their homes in opposite directions, but she's already looking forward to their next date, and she finds herself just brave enough to tell him so.

"Thank you, Castle. For the movie. And the popcorn and candy. And the burger and fries and milkshake."

His head falls back with the force of his laugh and it's sort of beautiful. "Hey, any night spent geeking out over sci-fi while stuffing ourselves with junk food is a winner in my book."

She's quiet for so long that she's almost surprised he doesn't walk away. He chooses to wait her out instead, so she takes a deep breath. "Just do me a favor and force the honest conversations with me. I'm trying, but I'm still pretty terrible at this." She waves a frustrated hand between them. "So make me talk. Help me to do this right."

He doesn't answer, using his fingertips to angle her chin toward him as he leans down for a kiss. It doesn't last long, and she knows she'll spend the night wanting more, but in that moment, after that conversation, and knowing they'll do it again…it's perfect.


	4. Slice of Death

She's _humming_.

She's in her kitchen and she's actually hummingsome song her mother had loved years ago, caught up in a kind of happiness she hadn't fully realized was missing from her life. Another case is closed, she's home early enough to avoid an exhausted stumble to her bed, and Castle is on his way to her apartment with dinner. He'd texted a while ago to let her know he'd gone a little out of his way for the food, but she glances at the clock on the wall and knows he'll arrive any minute. Having already pulled her hair back and changed into jeans and a Henley – she hadn't wanted to get _too_ comfortable – and with the wine poured and ready for them, she retrieves the two gifts she'd bought for him on their trip to the bookstore.

As she runs her fingertip along the edge of the wrapping paper, she has the passing thought that it's all too much, that the bright ribbons and Hallmark card scream the kind of normal they've never quite managed. It takes a few moments, but she calms quickly enough; Castle's birthday was a few days ago, and giving him gifts is an innocent gesture and probably the least he deserves. Then she chuckles when she remembers she was actually living with him on his last birthday, forced into his loft after her apartment was destroyed by Scott Dunn, and they'd celebrated with a family dinner. If she'd survived the inherent intimacy of wishing him a happy birthday alongside his mother and daughter, certainly eating take out on her couch and giving him a couple of books will be nothing at all.

His knock is sharp and familiar, so she pushes the gifts to the far side of the coffee table and clears a place for whatever he's brought them for dinner, then scurries across the room to open the door for him.

She laughs, completely uncensored, as she lets him in. "We found a burned body in an oven and you still have an appetite for pizza?"

"It would take a lot more than that for me to stop wanting pizza. And it's not like this pizza came from that same oven. I went across the bridge for the very best and all your senses will be truly delighted." He waves the box under her nose, as animated as usual. "You can thank me later."

"In that case, go ahead and get settled in the living room. The wine's already there, and I'm just gonna grab some napkins and plates."

Her back is to him, but it only takes a few seconds before she knows he's seen the presents. "Is this a belated birthday celebration for me?" he squeals.

"Something like that." She returns to his side and bumps into him with her shoulder. "We were busy with the case before, plus I didn't want to disrupt anything your family had planned, so I figured tonight would be okay."

He presses a quick kiss to her temple. "It's more than okay."

They move the birthday gifts to the floor to make more room for the pizza box, then settle onto the couch and grab for slices, the cheese hot and stringy as they pull the food toward their plates. They are silent for the next several minutes, occasional hums of pleasure aside, the pizza and wine keeping them far too occupied for actual conversation. It's only when they've moved onto their second slices that they begin to speak again, jumping into another movie discussion, this one about their film noir favorites.

" _Double Indemnity_ is the best. There's really no question about it," she insists.

"No question about it?" He puts his plate down and turns toward her. Oh, this is serious. He's more focused now than he is in some of their interrogations.

"Okay, so which one do you think is the best?"

" _The Third Man_ , of course. Or, wait, maybe _The Maltese Falcon_. Or _Sunset Boulevard_. _Touch of Evil_ maybe. Or _The Big Sleep_." He pauses as his eyes go wide. "Oooooh, Beckett, you know what we need to do?"

Yes. Yes, she knows exactly what they need to do, but she'll let him say it. "What do we need to do, Castle?"

"We need to have a film noir marathon at the loft! You can come over on one of your off days and we can make it totally dark inside and I'll prepare different flavors of popcorn and we'll have blankets and pillows. Oh, it will be awesome."

His enthusiasm is contagious and she can't stop the huge smile she feels lighting up her face. "Sure, I think we can probably manage that."

They raise their wine glasses and touch them together in agreement before taking simultaneous sips. Then the conversation easily moves into an update about Alexis's recent trouble with a friend at school and her ongoing relationship with Ashley. Kate has always loved watching Castle when he talks about his daughter and tonight is no exception, though some insecure child inside worries whether her own dad has that light in his eyes when he tells people about her.

She swallows that concern with the last bite of her pizza, entertaining Castle with a story from her college days while he helps himself to a third slice. Everything about their dinner has been wonderful, but she squirms a bit as he gets close to finishing, his presents still waiting to be unwrapped. She jumps up to clear the table; on her way back from the kitchen, she brings the bottle of wine and refills their glasses.

"Am I allowed to open these now? You know that waiting until after we ate was pretty much hell for me."

She smirks, but nods as she sits down next to him again. "Yes, you poor, tortured birthday boy. You can open your presents now."

He starts with the card, seemingly satisfied by her simple handwritten greeting. Then he looks to her for guidance about which one he should pick up first, so she points to the heavier of the two. Pulling it into his lap, he flashes her an appreciative smile before he's even aware of the gift itself, and it takes her breath away. His unconditional adoration is something she's yet to fully accept, but she's working hard to earn it. Finally, he tears into the paper and gasps when he sees what she's given him.

"Oh, Kate, this is perfect," he breathes. " _The Complete Sherlock Holmes_."

"You really like it? Do you have it already? I know it's not all that clever, buying mysteries for a mystery writer, but it caught my eye."

"Hey, hey, hey." Doing his best to interrupt her messy explanation, he squeezes her hand. "No, I don't have it, and classic mysteries are never a bad gift for anyone. I love it."

If she thought she was nervous when he opened his first present, she's doing significantly worse during the second. The book itself isn't anything amazing, but-

"Wow. This is absolutely stunning." He's already past the cover, turning the pages almost reverently. "A coffee table book about Napa Valley? Look at these pictures of the vineyards. Everything is so beautiful."

Somehow they're pressed together now, the book resting on both of them as she struggles to confess at least part of her motivation for buying it. "I saw it the day you took me to the bookstore and I knew I wanted you to have it. And we both love wine so much, so who knows…I mean, maybe…I thought that we might-"

"Maybe we can get away from the city sometime. Go out to Napa for a long weekend or something."

 _Yes_. She closes her eyes, so incredibly grateful that he was willing to pull the fantasy from where it was tangled up on her tongue. They haven't even talked about what they _are_ yet, whether they're officially beyond their obvious friendship and on to something entirely more complicated, so planning a vacation is foolish. Still, it's what she wants. She wants to share a bottle of merlot in the heart of wine country. She wants to watch the sunset – or maybe even the sunrise – as it stretches over acres of the rich, California land. And she wants him by her side for all of it.

Eventually she'll be able say it aloud, instead of making flustered attempts to show him in her own shyly brave way.

But she doesn't have any more time to think about it now, not when his hand comes up to caress the side of her face, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Then he's kissing her, and it's immediately different from the two others they've shared. There's none of the confused passion of their night in the alley, nor the almost-chaste simplicity of their goodbye in front of Remy's; this kiss is about tender exploration, full of questions and answers and a sigh of relief.

Her hand wraps around his forearm while he continues to cradle the side of her head, the innocent contact as important as the kiss that slowly grows, a wonderfully organic thing she wants to protect. She's opening for him before his tongue can even brush against her lips, inviting him closer, letting him take what he wants, and he doesn't hesitate to accept. It's intense, even as it remains so carefully gentle, and when he pulls back – she thinks he's checking to makes sure she's okay – she needs to capture his mouth again, needs to chase his taste until it becomes her own.

Eventually she feels him working his other arm around her waist, their position on the couch far from ideal when they'd rather be so much closer to each other. She's only mildly surprised by his strength when he shifts her into his lap, their mouths separating and her knees naturally bracketing his hips when she settles against him.

He moans.

Or she moans.

One way or another, _they_ moan, their bodies giving away their secrets when she rocks forward. It warms her, but she's tempted to run from the feeling, pretend she doesn't know what this is doing to him; she's encouraged to stay when his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt, gripping her waist and keeping her exactly where they both want her to be. There's nothing to say, no words that can adequately capture this moment, so they reclaim the kiss in lieu of breathless promises and dreams.

They move together so well, and she wonders whether their synchronicity will translate to the bedroom. It's a rhythm they've perfected throughout their partnership, the song familiar now, so she sees no reason why the sex will be anything less than amazing. Messy, silly, noisy, and far from everything they've probably imagined with busy hands and the cry of the other's name, but amazing nonetheless. For now, though, she's content to let him hold her in place, celebrating where they are instead of where they will be.

Eventually Castle breaks the kiss, and she whines in response, immediately feeling his smile against her neck. There's no apology, only mirth, but when he drags his lips along the underside of her jaw, she absolves him of his sin. Then she's distracted by the graze of his stubble, so barely visible that she probably would have never known it was there – how many nights has she missed it already? – if it weren't skating over her skin, arousing her in a way she isn't quite ready to confess in the quiet of her living room.

She falls forward in search of a place to drag the tip of her tongue, nuzzling her way past his shirt collar to suck at the warm juncture of his neck and shoulder. Whether it's his hips jerking upward or his hands pulling her down, his reaction is immediate and her mouth opens wide over him, swearing on a sudden exhale.

It's a lot, maybe even too much, their heartbeats reckless and their bodies close behind.

When she eases herself away from him, there's no doubt he's sensed it too. His eyes are clouded with lust, but there's a flash of caution there, the need to keep some measure of control. It's taken them two years to get here, and just over a month to get _here,_ so letting a few minutes carry them away is probably unwise.

He traces the curve of her lips with his thumb, his palm soothing against her cheek. "Thank you for the wine and the birthday gifts. And for promising to go to Napa Valley with me someday."

She smiles at that, even while thinking that she should be thanking him for the pizza and the patience and everything in between; she can't voice any of it when an invitation for him to stay is so eager for the chance to be heard. After she's managed to crawl off his lap, she clears their glasses and the nearly-empty bottle, shuffling away to give him a moment alone. She's still at the kitchen sink when she hears him approach, turning to find him with his presents piled in his arms and a comfortable grin on his face. She quickly dries her hands and follows him to the door, her fingertips brushing against his back.

After the door swings open and the hallway beckons, he turns toward her once again and she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Goodnight, Castle."

He mumbles his goodbye against her lips, then slips away before either of them gets the courage to ask for more.


	5. The Dead Pool

Castle drops the muffin and Kate watches as it tumbles into the basket, helpless against gravity and the jealousy that forces its fall. It hadn't taken particularly advanced detective skills for her to pick up on his unhappiness when she'd handed her phone number to Alex Conrad a day ago, but she hadn't been clear on whether the envy had been more professional or personal in nature. When Castle reads the handwritten note attached to the gift, her unspoken question is answered, his tone giving it all away.

"I guess you two got together last night."

He couldn't possibly be more ridiculous, all too easily ignoring how tightly she'd been pressed to him, rocking into his lap on her couch just a week ago. They've been busy since that night, unable to spend any more private time together, but being resentful of a man she's known for less than a day is a little much. How could Castle doubt what he means to her?

 _Because you've never told him, Kate. Not really. Not the way he needs to hear it._

The angel on her shoulder is insistent, and probably correct in her accusation, but there's a devil eager to remind her that Castle hasn't said much either, just as content to let their relationship exist in subtext and the warmth of their lips. She should drag him back to her apartment and make it clear – with actual words – that they have something special, and that Alex Conrad is the furthest thing from a threat. Instead, she finds herself leaning back in her desk chair, stretching her arms and taunting him with the idea that she may need to offer additional assistance to the up-and-coming writer.

It's unkind, and she's more than a little tempted to jump up and kiss the worry from his face, but Ryan interrupts and returns their attention to the case. They're quickly back to normal, the newest lead providing a much-needed distraction, and she's honestly glad to see Castle jump into the theory-building they've both come to love. When the information they've uncovered sends them off to Bensonhurst together, ready to track down a person of interest, everything is fine until she receives a text message from Alex Conrad. This time she doesn't intend to torment Castle and she's unaware of her laughter until he comments on it.

When he realizes who is on the other end of the exchange, his hurt is too obvious to ignore, so she attempts to brush it off and assuage his concern. "He was just seeing what time we can meet up tonight."

"Is that anything like when Ellie Monroe wanted to meet up with me?" he mutters, uninterested in an actual answer if his suddenly longer strides are anything to go by.

She catches up easily, grabbing his elbow to stop him in the middle of the sidewalk, then pulling him away from the pedestrians who glare at the unwelcome obstacle. "Castle, you _slept with_ Ellie Monroe," she hisses. "This is nothing like that."

"Fine. Natalie Rhodes then. You weren't exactly happy that I was spending time with her. But I suppose you'll just make the argument that she was trying to sleep with me, too. So, how about the professional and platonic interaction I had with Jordan Shaw? Do you really want to tell me that you weren't bothered by that?" He shakes his head and pushes past her again. "Just forget it, Beckett. Make whatever plans you want to make with Conrad. We have a potential suspect to find."

Unfortunately, he's right – about her history of jealousy _and_ the need to prioritize her job over a petty disagreement – so she'll delay any further confrontation of the issue until they've found and questioned Tommy Marcone. She'll have to do something to fix this mess, but right now, they've got a case to solve and reassuring him will have to wait.

* * *

In the end, their conversation gets postponed until an arrest has been made and only paperwork remains, but she's had that much more time to consider Castle's perspective. She can't deny that it had stung when he'd talked to Ellie Monroe, Natalie Rhodes, and Agent Shaw. Hell, if she thinks back even further, she has to admit how much she was hurt by the time he'd spent with Meredith and Kyra, too. And Castle had made his share of comments in response to Will's reappearance in her life, and a few more when she was dating Josh. Still, she thinks the past several weeks should have moved them past those feelings, made the envy unnecessary.

At least any trouble from their moment of bickering on the street had cleared quickly. As soon as they'd entered the Brooklyn bar yesterday, Castle had slipped free from his irritation and had backed her up, going so far as to get them a new lead from the bartender. They'd worked in harmony from that point forward, no trace of uncertainty or imbalance hindering their work. Still, the need to talk to Castle has only become more pressing since Alex Conrad enthusiastically cancelled plans with her last night, opting instead for hours of hazing disguised as a poker game. She isn't convinced she'll say everything they both deserve to hear, but it will be better than letting his jealousy linger, her feelings for him as yet unspoken.

He's near the murder board, so she wraps her fingers around his wrist and tugs him away. "Come on, we need to have a little chat."

They weave through the bullpen until they reach the stairwell door in the far corner. When she shoves it open with her free hand, she catches the curiosity on his face; he's either guessing what she's about to say or he's wondering why she's escorting him to an area of the precinct only used when they're literally chasing down a lead. The door slams behind them, the noise startling as it bounces off the cement floor, but she hurries him up several steps and pushes him against the cinderblock wall. His eyes are wide, his lips parting around the question he wants to ask, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak before she grabs his lapel and catches his words with her mouth.

He's all too happy to put his query on hold, opening to her and moaning around the intrusion of her tongue, but he smirks when she finally pulls away. "If that's your idea of 'a little chat,' I can't wait to see what a big chat would entail."

"Yeah, well, we both know I'm not always the best conversationalist."

"Maybe you should use more tongue."

She laughs at that, bold and uncensored. "Believe it or not, I brought you here for more than a kiss."

"I sort of guessed there was more to it. But aren't you a little concerned that we just got caught making out by the precinct security cameras?"

"Nope, we're in a blind spot. There's one on each landing." Her lower lip gets trapped between her teeth, so she forces it free and continues. "I heard that you guys were pretty hard on Conrad last night."

Castle's eyes close and his shoulders sag; it's as though he's a child who knows he's done something wrong and is awaiting his punishment, the fiery retorts from a day ago melting into the cool acceptance of whatever needs to be admitted now. Then he proceeds to offer up an explanation, giving her the details of everything that had happened during the poker game, the mocking that had come from all of the writers, but had been encouraged by him. He attempts to shrug it off as an innocent night of teasing a new mystery writer, but acknowledges that he might have been more mean-spirited than necessary. She has the passing thought that he's giving up his secrets rather easily, the victim of an interrogation he couldn't have expected to survive, and she feels a little guilty for cornering him so completely.

But not _that_ guilty. She still wants to hear more.

"Because you didn't want him to spend time with me." It's not a question; they'd covered that much on the street the day before. "Castle, why are you so jealous of Alex Conrad? You know I don't sneak him off to the blind spots in the stairwell, right?"

"I know, I know. And I've already had this conversation with Alexis and my mother."

Irrational panic seizes her, its cold hand against her throat as she whispers, "You had what conversation? Do they know that we've been spending more time together?"

He arches an incredulous eyebrow her way and, yeah, that's a gross misrepresentation of whatever it is they're doing, but she's really not prepared to have other people involved in her personal life.

"No, they don't know we've been 'spending more time together.'" His air quotes punctuate his annoyance. "They just know that I was upset about Alex Conrad trying to steal my muse. And that I felt like the Obi-wan to your Darth Vader."

"He wasn't trying to _steal_ anything. You _invited_ him into the precinct…without my permission, if you recall. And really? You wouldn't prefer to stick to a Han/Leia comparison?"

The kiss comes swiftly, brushed across her lips and gone again. "Damn you're sexy when you play along with my _Star Wars_ references."

"And that made you pause to kiss me in the middle of an argument?"

Castle tilts his head, confused and hurt. "Is this really an argument, Kate?"

"I don't know." She starts to throw her arms in the air, frustrated with herself as much as with him, but remembers that they're hiding from the cameras, so she takes a deep breath instead. ""Listen, I'm sorry for how I made you feel when Alex Conrad and I hit it off. From my standpoint, it was innocuous, but I understand that it sucked for you, so I apologize for that. And you were right to call me out on all the times I've been an ass. Neither one of us has the best track record against the green-eyed monster. But you and I are so different now and I just don't understand how Alex Conrad managed to crawl under your skin so quickly. He's a nice guy who really hasn't done anything wrong."

"At Black Pawn, they're all referring to him as 'the next Richard Castle.' And yeah, I thought it was a compliment, too," he growls. "But then I brought him here and the two of you connected right away. It made me wonder if maybe I'm being replaced. If maybe he's a better option for my publisher…and for you."

It's her turn to interrupt their discussion with a kiss, long and lazy, attempting to comfort him in a way her words cannot. They separate and sigh, their foreheads falling together. "I can assure you that he's not a better option for me. I can also assure you that he won't be following me around any longer."

The back of his head hits the wall with an uncomfortable thump, but Castle doesn't seem to care. "He won't? What happened? Is there a body I have to help you hide?"

"Yes, I dragged you into the stairwell so I could kiss you a few times and then ask if you have any lye I can borrow."

"Hmmmm, no, sorry," he says as he winks. "But perhaps I can interest you in a nice alibi?"

She pushes the laughter back with her fingertips. "Save the alibi for another time. I merely handed Conrad off to Espo, who, by the way, is very excited to be a male muse. Oh, but Conrad would still like to send you his draft when he's done with it."

"Of course. It's the least I can do after being so rude to him. I guess I underestimated how much it would bother me to see you spending time with another writer, even at this point in our partnership."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. From now on, I am a one-writer girl."

He's overwhelmed by that, his eyes soft and his breath visibly catching. "Thank you."

It makes her want to kiss him again. Or tuck herself into his embrace. Or pour her heart out onto the floor of the precinct stairwell, leaving the truth there for him to read. But she's not quite there yet, so she falls back on the word he's used twice now; as terrible as they are at communicating their feelings, its meaning has been clear.

"Always."


	6. To Love and Die in LA - Part One

Castle's waiting for her.

It hurts to breathe, her chest unwilling to open to the air she needs until a single sob bursts free and leaves a crack in its wake. She presses her hand over it immediately, sealing the imagined weakness before the car has come to a complete stop. There will be time to properly patch herself later; for now she's focused on making it through the sweep of the crime scene without her vulnerability spilling over, running with the blood of her training officer.

Castle's waiting for her, and it's the first time in the past two months that she wishes he wasn't.

As she cuts the engine, she recognizes there are probably a few reasons why she'd prefer to be alone for this, not the least of which is the knowledge that he can read her better than anyone. When she finally steps out of the car, her stride strong and sure, he will see past her certainty to the scream she's struggling to smother. Then there's the intimacy of her history with Royce, such a complicated thing. While it was never physical, it's still a relationship she'd prefer not be examined too closely. Kate has always treasured her privacy, her personal space, and while the last several weeks with Castle have been wonderful, she isn't sure she can do any of this with him at her side.

Unfortunately, she doesn't really have a choice. Never has where he's concerned.

She slams the door and stalks up to Castle and Montgomery, her captain predictable in his attempt to send her back home; they all know he's going through the motions, aware that she can't be stopped. Seconds later, while approaching the body – fuck, it's a _body_ now – Castle assumes his role as protector, echoing Montgomery's concern when he insists that she won't want to remember Royce with a bullet wound that has left him cold.

Kate wants to slap him, but she settles for something that will sting almost as much. "Castle, if it was me lying there, would you just walk away?"

It shuts him up. He walked away from her once, almost a year ago, with a pretty ex-wife on his arm; she's oddly confident that a gunshot would bring him closer instead. The alley kicks up the cold air around them and the inability to breathe returns, her damp workout clothes unforgiving as they suffocate her, the material becoming clammy hands that reach for her neck. Turning her back on the scene, fleeing from it entirely, might be wise, but she knows she'll never outrun the nightmares and she might as well limit what her subconscious can create in the absence of fact.

Lanie joins them, and Kate forces her training – the training Royce himself had instilled – to take precedence over her emotions, the latter bubbling just below the surface while she learns what she can about the shooting and Royce's arrival in the city. Then she allows herself a moment to say goodbye for the second time in seven months, her fingertips skating over Royce's hair in farewell and apology, before steeling herself once more. She accepts the handwritten letter Lanie hands her, needing only a glance to recognize it as personal, grateful for Ryan and Esposito's interruption with the rest of the preliminary information and an excuse to read Royce's words another time.

Her heart will fracture when she gets to them. It's well on its way now.

* * *

Kate slams the door to her apartment, locks snapping into place just before she spins on him. "You didn't need to escort me home, Castle. Believe it or not, I'm perfectly capable of changing my clothes and making it to the precinct without a chaperone."

He shrugs, no trace of hurt in his expression, as though he's already forgiven her for every cruel thing she'll say throughout this ordeal. "It's not a sense of obligation, nor a doubt in your ability to get dressed alone, that brought me here."

She's not about to get into a discussion of what _did_ bring him there, the possible answers more than she can handle at the moment, so she says nothing and abandons him in her living room. Her jacket is off before she's entered her bedroom, thrown on the unmade bed with the next shaky breath. Then she finds herself stripping completely, shuffling naked into her bathroom while she yanks the ponytail holder from her hair. She needs a shower before she can do anything else; her team will get whatever head start they can this late at night, but between her workout and the unexpected case, she is desperate for the chance to wash everything away.

Within minutes, the steam has made the room as invisibly heavy as Royce's murder has made her. She welcomes the scalding spray and scrubs at her skin, the sweetness of her body wash offering the only comfort against the hell she's enduring, until she watches her hands stutter to a stop over her body. The attack comes rapidly, and the tiles are cold at her back as she slides down to the shower floor, curled in on herself and hyperventilating while the tears fall.

Beyond the immediacy of her need to find a focal point and _inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale_ , there are the conflicting senses of being impressed that she'd held herself together as long as she had and surprised that the anxiety had hit her so swiftly. And she feels weak and stupid and careless to let this happen to her when she has Royce's case to solve, but the water won't stop and she can't find enough air and her pulse is racing as her forehead presses into her kneecaps. She is simultaneously numb and all too sensitive, but there's just enough will left within her to force her head upward, her torso lifted so she can breathe again, and the stream from the showerhead meeting the tears on her face until there's no difference between them at all.

It takes a while before she can stand again, the ache intense from the involuntary tightening of her muscles during the attack, but she manages to flatten her hands against the walls and let the hot water bring her back. Then she washes her hair as quickly as possible, aware now that Castle might start worrying about her; she'd made no suspicious noises, anxiety eerily silent when it strikes, but she's sure she's been gone long enough for him to wonder whether she's okay.

 _Kate Beckett, you are so goddamn far from okay._

* * *

Captain Montgomery tells her as much once she's standing in his office, the words different but the sentiment the same.

A couple of hours earlier, she'd emerged from her bedroom after dressing in a simple black button-up and pants, the monochromatic theme obvious enough for the occasion. Her hair had been hurriedly blown dry, makeup applied to swollen eyes in an attempt to hide lasting evidence of her breakdown, and she'd slipped into knee-high boots with the hope that the additional four inches could prop her up in a way nothing else could.

She hadn't let herself lean on the man who had been standing sentinel in her living room.

Castle had remained mostly quiet after her reappearance, only speaking in the clipped sentences needed to get them from her apartment to the precinct. He still hadn't flinched, willing to see her through the night regardless of whether she planned to be gracious in return. Then when she and Castle had arrived at the 12th, they'd joined the boys and had been caught up on the latest with the gun used to kill Royce and the whereabouts of their prime suspect. Having that target, a name on which to focus all of her ire, had led to her insistence that she follow the trail to Los Angeles, but she'd run into Montgomery's steadfast refusal to send a compromised detective into a jurisdictional mess.

Montgomery is staring her down now, a showdown of stubborn versus stubborn in which the obvious advantage goes to the man with the higher rank. It leaves her with no other option, and they both know where she's headed once she delivers her request for vacation time, her captain's warning acknowledged even as it's unheeded. Castle attempts to call her on the lie as she storms away from the bullpen, but she turns on him, ignoring two months of closeness and pleading with him to leave her alone.

* * *

It comes as no surprise that Castle is on her flight to Los Angeles; the man has been unable to follow her directions since their very first case together. Also unsurprising is the fact that she's far less bothered by his presence now. It had been difficult to have him so close when she'd first learned about Royce, almost terrifying to know that a couple of too-thin walls had separated him from her anxiety attack, but there's no denying how grateful she is for his unquestionable support now.

He tips his champagne glass toward her in greeting, the concern in his eyes belying the cheerfulness of the gesture. A toast to kick off a first-class flight is exactly the type of thing she'd allowed herself to imagine for their first vacation together, but this is all business and no pleasure, so she settles into her seat, takes a polite sip, and blinks back the reality of what awaits them in California. There will be no winery tours and souvenir cases of their favorite red, only a clandestine investigation and the memories of a man she used to know. Before the plane begins to taxi, she's careful to warn Castle about how recklessly she's behaving – how recklessly _both_ of them are behaving, really – though he's already cognizant of the risks involved when a cop goes rogue and she doesn't expect him to bail on her.

She swallows hard against the emotion woven into that certainty; she has such confidence in his desire to stand shoulder to shoulder with her in all things, big or small. And whether it's because he wants to make her cry, or whether he's simply looking for a way to reassure her of his role in her life, he reaches over the armrest to pull one of her hands into his, the touch immediately soothing.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he murmurs.

She tilts her head toward him. He may not be a detective, but she's sure he's already figured out the answer. "Not really. I booked the trip, packed my bag, then tossed and turned for a few hours."

"Close your eyes now." His thumb swirls over the back of her hand and he leans over to press a chaste kiss into her hair. "We've got about six hours before we get to L.A., and while I know I offer quite a stunning view, there will be plenty of time to stare at me after we land."

He gets a tired grin for his effort, but she does as he suggests and, miraculously, she falls into a nightmare-free nap with her hand warm in his. It's only when there's an announcement about making the descent into Los Angeles that she stirs, disoriented until her stiff neck screams and she straightens in her seat.

"Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty."

Then it all comes back, the horror of last night softened slightly by Castle's voice, and she quickly meets his eyes, letting the blue guide her past the drowsy panic tapping at her chest.

"We're almost there."

She's not really asking; in addition to the official update that had awakened her, she can feel the vibrations of the landing gear moving into place, but he nods anyway. "We are. I've got a rental car ready for us to pick up and a suite reserved at a swanky hotel."

"Castle, we don't need a swanky hotel. We need to find Royce's killer."

"I know, and we will." He flashes her a brilliant smile. "But it won't hurt to do it in style, right?"

His wink perfectly punctuates his question and weakens whatever glare she'd attempted to throw his way. "Fine. You get to be in charge of the transportation and accommodations, but you have to do exactly what I say with regard to the investigation. Deal?"

"Deal. Taking orders from the civilian version of Kate Beckett is still hot."

They say little else throughout the landing, then quietly weave through LAX until they've found the rental car company, where she pretends to be shocked by Castle's choice of an obnoxiously red convertible. It's only when they enter the lobby of their hotel that she realizes the car might be downright practical in comparison. The hotel is all sharp lines and bright colors, probably inspired by the faces of the starlets who stay there, and she finds herself leaning into Castle's side for the warmth lacking in their surroundings.

"I know it's a bit much, but the service is excellent and the location is ideal," he whispers.

A concierge sweeps them away a moment later and Kate remains wide-eyed throughout the journey to their suite, trying to ignore the persistent reminder that she just flew across the country with Castle and is about to be ushered into a hotel room with him. It's everything she wants and not at all how she wants it, but she takes a deep breath when they're finally left alone, accepting a fate she doesn't exactly believe in.

The past 24 hours have been awful, and she can only hope they manage to escape from this unscathed.

Castle slides his hand into hers. "So, what now?"


	7. To Love and Die in LA - Part Two

As wonderful as a romantic dinner at Spago might have been after the busy afternoon they've had, they're content to take advantage of room service back at their hotel, ordering plenty of food and a bottle of chardonnay. Castle had reasoned that there would be ample opportunity for them to enjoy high-end cuisine in Manhattan, and their sightseeing of Beverly Hills – and the rest of Southern California – could wait for a trip on which they weren't working to solve a case against official orders; she's pretty sure he'd also been influenced by the exhaustion etched into each line of her face and the gratefulness scribbled into her smile.

Their dinner arrives, delivered with a flourish by the eager attendant, then the wine is opened, glasses poured, and bottle placed in a chiller on the linen-covered coffee table. Castle hadn't been kidding when he'd touted the excellent service at the hotel, and if the gorgeous presentation is any indication, the food will be incredible.

They might not be all dolled up for a date at a fancy restaurant, but everything Castle's providing tonight makes it easier to forget the sadness that still courses through her veins, diluting it until it becomes manageable. Maybe for a few hours – until the last of the wine drips from the bottle like the final grains of sand in an hourglass – they can pretend to be carefree in a way she's so rarely allowed herself to imagine.

Reality will be waiting on the other side; she knows it's coiled and ready to strike.

So, they settle onto the couch, sitting closer to each other than is probably necessary, and allow themselves to get lost in their meal and mindless conversation. It's ridiculous to adhere to a strict definition of "his" and "hers" when it comes to the obviously delicious entrees, so they share without a word about it, sampling each other's food as they hum their pleasure and nod encouragingly.

The investigation seeps back into their consciousness sooner than she'd like, theorizing about the case when a small amount of dessert still remains untouched. Two glasses of wine, combined with the devastation of losing Royce and a lack of decent sleep, have her resting against the back of the sofa, pliant even as tension continues to threaten from a heartbeat away. Then the nostalgia beckons, memories seeking a voice, and she isn't sure where to begin or what to withhold. The letter tucked into her luggage, already worn from anxious hands and errant tears, suggests that she not keep anything from Castle, but her carefully crafted independence is a difficult defense mechanism to overcome.

So she treads cautiously, reading Castle's reaction as she reminisces, prepared to change the subject to something safer at the first sign of his jealousy – or too much of her vulnerability – but he is steady in his support as she recounts her first impression of her training officer. She's wistful at best, and in typical Castle fashion, he does what he can to help pull her back to safety.

"You know what I thought when I first met you?"

She's surprised by the quiet interruption, but hums for him to continue, and the words that follow take her breath away. It's not a secret that his feelings for her are serious – maybe he could even love her – but it's still overwhelming, the way he sees so much more in her than anyone else has.

Well, anyone other than Royce.

And that realization nearly breaks her, the sharp and sudden awareness of why she's so often crippled by the idea of opening her heart to Castle, professionally fearless and personally pathetic. Royce was the only other man with that same unwavering faith in her; he was someone who made her stronger, not because she couldn't conquer the world on her own, but because he helped her see that she could. She had been so tentative back then, but he'd stood at her back and convinced her to march forward, all the while reassuring her that he'd be only a step behind.

And then he was gone.

She'd trusted him. She'd _loved_ him. Royce had been there for her in a way nobody ever had, and she let herself surrender to that all-encompassing warmth, right up until he'd left her cold. His exit could be explained any number of innocent ways – precinct transfers certainly happened – but he'd departed with little more than a wave goodbye, leaving her wondering how one-sided the adoration had been, and whether she'd been a fool all along.

 _With little more than a wave goodbye._ No. She flies from one memory to another, seeing with absolute clarity the evening that Castle had left her alone in the bullpen, her curious team staring with drinks in hand as her timid confession had been trampled by her partner and his ex-wife number two. If Castle had been able to flash her a smile and disappear for months then, would it be that much more difficult to do it now?

She tries to remind herself that so much has changed since then, and what she's built with Castle in the past two months can't be equated to her situation with Royce years ago. At the most fundamental level, she'd never been romantically involved with Royce and Castle isn't her mentor. Still, the emotional similarities are striking, the depth of her attachment to both of them terrifying, and she fights the urge to press her palm to her chest as a means of keeping her heart safe now.

The spiral continues as she reflects upon her relationship with Will, but she knows his love for her had never been unconditional; his consistent need to prioritize his career over her had proved that much. Demming had come and gone before he'd had a chance to have much impact at all. And Josh had always been a placeholder, as heartless as that seems in hindsight, accompanying her through months of denial. So she's left considering Royce and Castle, the two men she hadn't compared until a moment ago, the praise of her strength undeserved when she's suddenly so fucking scared.

She deflects the compliments; she isn't sure what else to do. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

But then he's looking at her – looking _into_ her – and she knows she's deflected nothing at all. The truth is everywhere. It's in the brilliant blue pushed aside by the black of his pupils. It's in the barely noticeable curve of his lips as they keep his smile contained. And she's certain it's swirling in his lungs, waiting for the moment it can be carried away on an innocent exhale, given the freedom to exist in the air between them.

In the end, the truth goes nowhere, battled back by the impulsive press of her lips against his. If he's surprised, he hides it well, welcoming the slide of her tongue and the tiny moan she no longer tries to deny. He seems so damn sure of them, while she's fighting the newly solidified fear that he could walk away as unexpectedly as Royce had, and she's almost desperate for the physical confirmation of Castle's feelings, the warm press of skin on skin. They can stay right here on the couch while she settles into a familiar position on his lap, or they can fall into one of the beds where they'll tussle for control. One way or another, she's ready to tattoo his heart with her name, and maybe it will make it harder for him to leave. Her decision made, even as her chest constricts, she deepens the kiss and swiftly unfastens the first of too many buttons on his shirt.

Castle has other plans.

He covers her hand with his and breaks the kiss that has barely begun, easing back until he can duck his head and meet her eyes. "Hey. It's been a really long day. We should probably get some sleep so we can get an early start tomorrow."

There is a lot more left unspoken, but she quickly realizes that he'd been ready to draw a line in the sand before they'd even arrived in California; his choice to reserve a two-room suite makes sense now. The rejection stings, but her gratitude works to remind her that this sweet, beautiful man – a rehabilitated playboy – won't allow their first time to be tainted by grief and the possibility of regret. When he eventually rises and makes his way toward his room, she fights to convince herself it's only for the night, that he's not walking out on _her_ , but the lump in her throat makes it difficult to respond until she can choke out a single word.

"Castle-"

He turns in the open doorway and offers her a smile. "Goodnight, Kate."

She knows she stares after him for too long, but then she finally shakes her head and drags herself from the couch. It's only once she's in her room, the door nearly shut behind her, when she thinks she hears the whispered click of his door reopening.

Perhaps he's changed his mind.

She's definitely changed hers.

It's better this way.

* * *

Kate's up before dawn the next morning, and Castle's not terribly far behind her. While she's managed a bit of a head start, her makeshift murder board rapidly filling with the facts of the case, he seems ready to shake his drowsiness and jump back into the investigation. There's a hint of awkwardness lingering from the night before, but she's already cleaned up the evidence of their dinner, and welcomes his input as she studies the information they've gathered. By the time Seeger arrives, they're standing in solidarity.

She can't quite say that everything is perfect throughout the rest of the day. They're partners who know each other very well, so working in tandem isn't difficult, but she's aware their usually flawless rhythm is off. She's also aware they won't discuss what happened. She and Castle have made so much progress since she broke up with Josh, but they're experts at avoiding the subject of _them_. Even within the decent conversations they've had about trust and jealousy, neither has brought up the status of their relationship or when they'll admit they have one at all. It's a boat that needs to be rocked, but Castle won't press the fact that she would have slept with him in a moment of need, and she'll gladly accept his offer of silence. Especially in light of the insecurities that are still buzzing beneath her skin.

The bright California sun manages to shine upon them for a minute that afternoon, blessing them with a quick connection when she thinks everything's gone awry after her poolside chat with Ganz. Castle reveals that he captured their suspect's recent call list, and she's relieved and proud and really wants to kiss him…so she does. It's the most natural reaction and a wonderful thing that she doesn't have time to second-guess, the type of kiss that should happen over breakfast or at a barbecue with friends or when saying goodnight at the loft.

Instead, it lasts only a second before they slip back into the seriousness of the case and the need to follow up on the lead he's found for them. The events of the next several hours are mostly a whirlwind as they work with Seeger – and the boys in New York – to track down Ganz in Santa Monica, finding him under the pier and bringing him the hell she didn't know he'd been promised. She scares herself with how close she comes to pulling the trigger when she has the gun aimed at his head, but by the time she's sitting next to Castle on the flight home, mere hours later, she's bothered by an entirely different fear.

Her partner sleeps soundly, and she opens the letter from Royce to read it for the hundredth time.

 _Risking our hearts is why we're alive. That last thing you want is to look back on your life and wonder, 'if only.'_

His meaning is unmistakable, though it shakes her to think that Royce had been able to read her so well – Castle, too – during his brief encounter with them months ago. And she can't ignore the knowing looks from Ryan and Esposito, Captain Montgomery only slightly more subtle in his encouragement of the relationship she'll still refute. Then there's Lanie, who has called her out from day one, and her father, who so desperately wants to summon Johanna's joyful "I told you so." She can only imagine the pressure she'd be getting from Martha and Alexis if they were in a position to speak their minds, and it's all too much for her.

It's suffocating, this crowd of well-intentioned friends and family, led by the words of a dead man she'd believed for too long. Everyone is urging her to risk her heart because they don't want her to her to suffer the remorse laced through _If only we had given the relationship a try_ or _If only we hadn't waited too long_ or _If only we had admitted we'd fallen in love._ But as she trails her fingers over the worn paper again, she knows she's more afraid of another one.

 _If only we'd decided to stay friends instead._


	8. Pretty Dead

_A/N: Several people have expressed frustration over the turn this fic has taken, so I'd like to reassure everyone that I've had this fully outlined from the beginning and have not lost sight of my endgame. I also want to clarify that I did not set out to "fix" anything about Kate Beckett; I'm more than content with a flawed - realistic - heroine. I'm only exploring the way the C/B relationship might have developed in the absence of Josh at the end of season three. If anyone is concerned and would like to discuss my motivations/intentions, feel free to PM me or sign in on your review. Thanks!_

* * *

They've been back in New York for almost a week, a new case keeping them busy, but no amount of hair spray and sequins can distract her from the fact that she and Castle are on shaky ground. The responsibility is largely – entirely? – hers, of course, but she'd really thought that being home again would be the stabilizing force she needed to get past her fears about moving forward with their relationship. And she's grateful that she hasn't managed to ruin what they've become, but she knows she's keeping him at arm's length and they'll only hold on for so long if they remain on opposite sides of a growing chasm.

As is usually the case when she's feeling vulnerable, she's retreated into her own mind, playing witness to the ongoing war between heart and head. Realistically, she's knows that Castle is as invested in their future as she is; every smile, whisper, embrace, and kiss has promised her as much. Just a month ago, they were quietly daydreaming of a vacation in Napa Valley, a romantic weekend away for two people who are much more than friends, yet now, after too many nights of lying awake at god-awful hours, she's paralyzed with the fear that he'll change his mind and walk away. The fear that she's not enough to keep him.

If she'd had any doubt about whether Castle was aware of the increased distance between them, it's put to rest when they're strolling through the precinct and he fills her in on Alexis's latest trouble with Ashley. Apparently, his daughter decided to break up with her boyfriend to give him the freedom to move on without her; it's a bold choice, but not one lacking merit. It might hurt them for a while, but the pain would be significantly greater months or years down the road.

She attempts to argue as much, but Castle fights back. "Relationships aren't math problems. You don't solve them by being practical. I mean, what happens when she meets her soul mate and she doesn't risk it because it's not practical?"

His pointed glare confirms her assumption that he's talking about something more personal than Alexis's high school romance, and she's frustrated by their inability to get past the subtext that has screwed them up over and over again. She wants to scream that risk is hard and that maybe Alexis and Ashley can have a really amazing friendship and there's no reason to throw away a fantastic future just because they think they might be soul mates. She wishes she could grab him and shake him and tell him that it _is_ a math problem because she's just a cop and he's a world famous bestselling author, and when you add those two together, they don't equal a happy ending.

But there's no time to get into any of it with him. To have the fight they should probably have. Or at least the conversation that's long overdue. They approach Esposito and Montgomery in the bullpen, silently agreeing to ignore their problems a while longer.

* * *

She forces back the juvenile eye roll when Ashley appears at the precinct to talk to Castle; it's unfair of her to be annoyed at the presence of another male who insists on _pushing_ , on showing up at the precinct uninvited. That's a battle she fought and lost many years ago, and she can't pretend she's sorry that she didn't come out victorious, even if she's losing sleep over how intensely she's fallen for her partner.

And after giving them only a minute to talk privately, she knows she shouldn't be wandering over to where they stand in the hall. It's a conversation about Ashley and Alexis, so there's no need to eavesdrop, but her anxiety won't ebb and she can't stop the shuffle that brings her close enough to overhear the understanding in Castle's voice.

"But if you call her and tell her that, she'll be even angrier with you for ignoring her boundaries."

Her eyes fall shut, the layers beneath his observation causing the guilt to wrap its fingers around her heart. She's positioned him so cruelly between a rock and the no-more-welcoming hard place, relying upon him to move them forward even as they both know she'll shut him down if he's too bold in doing so. It's just one more contradiction in her growing pile of them.

She shoves the introspection aside in time to catch Ashley's question. "Mr. Castle, have you even been crazy about someone who is determined to push you away?"

Before Castle can respond, she trips into the hallway, unable to stomach his answer while her gut is still churning with too many other truths. "Hey, Castle-oh, sorry, guys."

It does the job, stalling whatever confession might have been offered to a kid who shouldn't hear it before she does anyway. And that helps her make her decision, because she needs his words – has cradled them close to her heart for so long now – and he deserves hers in return. Castle's been more patient with her than should be requested of anyone, but he won't stay by her side forever if she gives him no reason to be there. She chews on her lower lip as Ashley makes a final plea on his way out, then she looks up at Castle, remorse caught between furrowed brows.

"Do you have to get home to Alexis tonight? I mean, right away?"

He looks surprised. Maybe suspicious. "I'm not in a rush, no. Besides, she probably doesn't want me too close while she sorts out her internal crisis and I'd hate to make the problem even worse."

Oh, that cuts deep.

"I don't know, Castle. I'd guess there's a big part of her that wants you there, even when she insists otherwise…but giving her space isn't a bad thing either." Taking a deep breath, she drops the act, if only for a moment. "Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

* * *

They'd decided to go straight from the precinct to a restaurant in Little Italy, forgoing both the loft and her apartment in favor of neutral ground, so she's in the locker room attempting to freshen up before they leave together.

She might be trying to find a coherent thought, too.

There's no need to change clothes, but it won't hurt to touch up her eye makeup – distracting him with the hazel swirl of her irises may help to ease the growing tension between them – and she swipes some tinted lip balm over the smile she hopes will arrive soon. Then she pulls her hair into a ponytail that makes her look far more carefree than she feels. Her appearance acceptable, she sighs and stares down her reflection until she can sort some of the chaos in her head.

Castle isn't the same person Royce was. It doesn't matter how much time she spends comparing them, how much she aches with the absolute love and support they've given her when she's needed it most, it's not fair to predict what Castle _might_ do based upon what Royce _did_ do. She hasn't been caught up in a storm of memories about Will or Josh or anyone else, so she needs to shake the idea that Castle will leave her as cold as Royce once did. Everything Castle's shown her – bar his summer at the Hamptons that was at least as much her fault as his – contradicts the ridiculous fear that's been lingering since their trip to California.

There's no denying that there's a friendship at risk as she and Castle move forward with a more romantic relationship; he's become the one person she trusts like no other, the man with whom she wants to share her laughter, and the one she wants to dry her tears. But she also knows it's already too late to run from this. Castle is it for her, the man she can't stop loving, so it's going to be all or nothing. And with her best friend, she wants it all.

Who cares that they don't make sense on paper? They don't live their lives on paper.

They still have trouble talking about the most important things, their conversations lacking the honesty they've owed each other for so long. And while she understands that communication has been a weakness of hers forever, she's been surprised to find that this man who makes his living by stringing words together in beautifully effective ways, can't manage to find the right ones when he's with her. She's always thought of Castle as more brave and bold than she'll ever be, but they've stumbled upon the limits of his courage; he refuses to rattle her when he thinks he might lose everything in the process.

She straightens, and it's the first time in a week that she's proud of the woman she sees in the mirror. Captain Montgomery told them the secret is to keep showing up, but Kate's not sure it's enough anymore, and it's time to do something about it.

* * *

Some of her resolve weakens by the time they're seated at the restaurant and she refuses to fortify it with alcohol, reaching for her glass of sparkling water instead. Castle is aware that an important conversation looms, but waits her out with cautious bites of salad and a few nervous jokes about their ongoing case. Still, she stalls, everything she needs to say lost to the delicious food and the warmth of the man whose patience will always amaze her.

Finally, when the server has left them alone with a slice of cheesecake to share, cappuccinos soothing with their very presence, she chances a long look at her partner. Her best friend. Her significant other. Her everything.

She scrapes her fingernail against the tablecloth, a subconscious back and forth. "So, I've been doing some thinking. A lot of thinking, actually."

"Yeah, well, dodging my invitations and phone calls has probably given you a lot of time to yourself."

Nodding, she accepts the interruption and the blame. "I'm sorry for that. I got overwhelmed with a lot of stuff in L.A. and I withdrew instead of talking about it. I do that, and it's unfair, but I had to process everything alone first."

"I'm sorry, too. But you don't have to do anything alone anymore. Not if you don't want to."

"I know, Castle. I do. I just-I think in the aftermath of what happened to Royce, I got a stupid thought stuck in my head and I couldn't stop obsessing over it. But then I got so focused on that one problem that I stopped looking at the bigger picture, so I spent today reminding myself of all-"

His fork falls from his hand, clattering onto the dessert plate and stopping her short. "Wait, Beckett. What did you just say?"

Well, she'd been about to get to something relatively deep, but his eyes are wide already and she pauses to figure it out. "Um, I was reminding myself about the past couple of months with you and-"

"No, no. Before that."

"That I'd stopping looking at the bigger picture?" Her eyebrows are arched, head tilted, and she really hopes he can explain himself soon.

"Yes! We need to get back to the precinct and take another look at that picture of Amber." He waves the server over to request the check, then stuffs a forkful of cheesecake into his mouth.

She's still frozen in her seat. "Remind me to get you a subscription to a girly magazine for Christmas."

"Beckett!" The check presenter is placed on the table, so he quickly pulls the cash from his wallet and shoves the bills into place. "What if the murder had nothing to do with the person in the picture, and everything to do with where the picture was taken?"

It finally clicks, the reason he's so eager to drag her away from the restaurant, but she can't help the lump in her throat from the words she'd yet to share. As wonderful as it is to see him excited about the case – and there's no doubt she'd love to have it solved – they're still far from stable as a couple, and she wonders how much longer they can keep up a charade that neither of them believes.

* * *

By the time she makes her regular pilgrimage to visit Hal Lockwood in prison the following week, the beauty pageant homicide has been solved and their conversation has been put off a few more times. And when she's standing in front of Lockwood, his hands up and covered in Gary McCallister's blood, she fears she might not be around long enough to talk to Castle at all.


	9. Knockout - Part One

With Gary McCallister dead and Hal Lockwood facing new murder charges, plus the incident reports and finger pointing inherent in a mess like that, it takes Kate a while to get back to the precinct from her visit to the prison. When she finally arrives at the 12th, she's told Castle is waiting for her in the breakroom and nods her thanks, but after she sweeps past her desk to drop off her things, she takes the long way around the bullpen before going to find him. There's a lingering adrenaline high and she needs it to burn off; if Castle recognizes it, he'll assume it's bound to propel her headfirst into this thing.

He's not wrong.

These people irrevocably changed her life – almost entirely for the worse – and she has no intention of letting go of any lead she may have just been handed by the devil himself. Her entire career has been crafted around this very chance, but she knows Castle will want her to exercise restraint where she has none to offer, so she masks the truth behind the calm smile she'll present to him now, and they can argue another day. The list of conversations they need to have is already long.

As she approaches the breakroom door, she sees him pacing and wonders what energy he's trying to release, whether he's just as ready to hide as she always has been. He catches himself quickly enough when she enters, brushing a furtive kiss to her cheek before moving out of the way of her caffeine fix, then attempts to make small talk until she's somewhat settled. He surprises her when he interrupts his own chatter with a quiet declaration.

"I'm sorry."

She needs him to expand on his apology, because she's remembering their awkward might-have-been in Los Angeles and the distance that she's kept since their return, and she knows she's the one who should be repentant. That's not even taking into consideration all the ways she's guaranteed to hurt him when she falls back into her mother's case, but as he continues to talk, she realizes he's trying to cut off that possibility, to protect both of them from a fate she's already accepted.

Playing along, she reassures him that progress has been made and grins away her grief. Then she invites him to accompany her to Lockwood's arraignment; while she's certain he wants to drag her away from the chaos altogether, she also knows he won't pick a fight about standing witness to the relatively benign legal process. Of course, neither of them expects the hell that rains down on them in the courtroom.

They're not seated long when she senses the imminent threat, eyes darting across the room as the air vibrates with Lockwood's confidence and justice that won't be served. When the flash bomb is thrown, instinct has her diving away from the danger, and she screams for Castle to get down even as the impact of her body gives him no other option. He's warm beneath her, safe and all too willing to embrace her until the smoke clears, but after sparing him a cursory glance and mumbled concern, she makes the choice she's afraid she's going to make time and time again.

She leaves Castle behind and chases answers instead.

* * *

There's pity in the eyes of four men who should be demanding more of her; it starts with her captain and trickles downward until it pools uncomfortably in her partner's worried stare.

She carries the weight of it with her to New Jersey, where they find the helicopter used in Lockwood's escape. Ryan and Esposito follow her instructions, but their doubt is poorly-hidden, heavy in the things they won't say. Castle's more willing to speak up, but the platitudes that wait on his eager tongue are denied a voice when she insists she's fine. She doubts he believes her, but she doesn't care; she just needs him to stop asking questions when he already knows the answers.

Later that night, pity is laced through the shadows on her ceiling, keeping her company when her bed provides no real comfort and she's taunted by the nightmares that have come alive after lying dormant for too long. She has memorized and forgotten the softness of her mother's face more times than she can count, but the sight of Johanna's picture on a murder board will forever lead to flashes of bloody alleys and an empty seat at every family dinner.

She forces the pity aside and stays wide awake when she feels her finger on the trigger a second before she watches Dick Coonan bleed to death in front of her, only to witness Detective Raglan fall at the whim of a sniper a moment later. Then she shakes her head quickly to clear the vision of Castle, too close to both of those bullets, her mind turning instead to every smile Hal Lockwood has offered, full of knowledge she can't begin to comprehend. She spends hours fighting her own memories, vibrant and demanding, finally surrendering at dawn and going for a run until it's reasonable enough for her to show up at the precinct for more bad news.

Another dose of pity is subtly stirred into the coffee Castle delivers a couple of hours later when they acknowledge that neither of them was able to sleep. It's there in the gunshot wound that killed a paid-off prison worker, as sickening as the blood dried on his head. And it's present in every vowel that softens the boys' insistence that they've already followed up on the leads they have. She can do nothing but sharpen each word she spits back in response, willing to piss them off if it will make them stop feeling so goddamn sorry for her.

When she can't stomach it any longer, she grabs her bag and a stack of the case files, and hurries from the precinct before any of them can slow her down.

* * *

She's ready for the fight – defensive and prepared to redirect years of pain - when it lands on her doorstep.

When _he_ lands on her doorstep.

It's not fair, but none of this is. It's not right that she had her mother ripped out of her life twelve years ago, and it's not right that the ongoing conspiracy is likely to end her relationship with Castle now. She loves him, but she doesn't think she can keep the promises he'll ask her to make; Johanna Beckett died in her quest for the justice and Kate's fully prepared to do the same.

 _vincit omnia veritas_

When she'd first heard the notion that truth conquers all, she hadn't realized 'all' would include the ones fighting on the side of righteousness.

She lets Castle follow her into the living room, where they're silent a few seconds too long. "If you've got something to say, just please say it."

So he does, but his opening argument is predictable and trite. She wonders how harshly the NY Times critics would respond to a bestselling writer's decision to rely on such an obvious summation in the face of crisis. She's aware everyone is dead. She's aware they're coming for her next. And she's aware Montgomery's protective detail won't do a damn thing to stop them. Her shoulders don't manage more than a half-hearted shrug in response, though she knows the gun in her hand contradicts her apparent lack of concern.

"They killed my mother. What do you want me to do here?"

He's firm, maybe even cold; the dark blue of his stare reinforces the chill. "We want you to walk away."

His use of the plural tells her more than he'd probably wanted and, oh, and that's the reason for his unwelcome appearance, isn't it? He's been fortified by an army of men too weak to back him up in person. "Who sent you here, Castle? Ryan and Esposito? Or was it Montgomery? Did your poker buddy decide he didn't want to be my captain tonight, forcing you to do his dirty work instead?"

"He didn't force me to do anything. He and your-" His pause gives him away, and she thinks he's going to attempt to cover his slipup, but he shocks her by standing even taller and continuing on. "Montgomery and your father know that you won't listen to them. And I'm not sure you'll listen to me either, but I can't look those two men in the eye and tell them I didn't even try."

She's stunned. Angry, despondent, confused, and hundred other things that simply leave her broken.

"My father? You met my father?" Her voice cracks around it because it's wrong. That was never how it was supposed to be, and now they'll never get a chance to do it right, even if they make it to the other side of this.

"He came to the loft last night," he nods. "And Montgomery talked to me this afternoon."

"So now you're here, letting them pull your strings from afar."

"Don't make them the enemies, Kate. Not when Lockwood and his friends pose a very real threat." He takes a deep breath and stays maddeningly calm. "They're going to kill you. And if you don't care about that, at least think about how that's going to affect the people that love you. You really want to put your dad through that? And what about Montgomery?"

Fury strikes, hot and bitter, and she steps forward with the challenge it inspires. "And what about you, Rick?"

"Well, of course I don't want anything to happen to you. I'm your partner. I'm your friend."

"Is that what we are?" She's almost afraid to hear the answer, but this is what it's come down to, a game of chicken between two people too scared to admit how they feel about each other, even when it's been obvious for a little less than forever.

But he's not ready to let her win. "No, you know what…I don't know what we are. We go out for dinner and drinks and movies, and then we never talk about it. We touch and kiss and, hell, you would've slept with me in L.A., but we never talk about it. So, no, I've got no clue what we are."

"I sure as hell hope you're taking half the blame there." She storms past him, her outrage desperate for a kinetic release, eventually spinning back to face off with him again. "Even now, you're trying to pull me back from the most important case of my life – my _mother's_ case - on the basis of a partnership. A _friendship_. You won't say any of the words that would actually matter."

"You know what? This isn't about your mother's case anymore. This is about you needing a place to hide, because you've been chasing this thing so long you're afraid to find out who you are without it."

"You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't." Bile burns in the wake of the lie.

"I know you're going to stand here and insist that three words from me might change your mind. And I know you're fooling yourself with that far more than you're fooling me. I could go up to your rooftop and scream the truth to all of Lower Manhattan or fall to my knees and confess to you here, but I know whatever you think you want to hear from me won't make a damn bit of difference, and I'd rather save it for a time when it will."

He's read her as accurately as he did when they first met and it hurts; she uses the last of her resolve to hurt him back. "You know what we are, Castle? We are over. Now get out."

He stalks past her so she's no longer facing him, but the rattle of the door when it's slammed shut is confirmation that he's done as she demanded. Then she finds herself trembling as she shuffles over the path of his footsteps, clumsy fingers fumbling with the locks when she's finally reached them; the sobbing begins when she realizes that her attempt at security is futile anyway.

She slides down the length of the door, the cold floor unforgiving beneath her, and gazes at the emptiness of her apartment, letting the tears continue to fall until her vision blurs. Until her stomach is twisted with cowardice and guilt. Until her head pounds out the reminder of every wrong choice she's made. Until she can't tell where the pain of losing her mom ends and the pain of losing Castle begins.


	10. Knockout - Part Two

"I mean it. I want him gone." She hopes her tone brooks no argument, but she feels the weakness in her voice, barely able to believe herself.

Apparently, it doesn't matter to Montgomery. "Okay, he's gone."

And between her venomous words last night and the ease with which her captain has acquiesced to her plea, the relationship she'd had with Castle – every complicated layer of it – is dissolved in mere seconds. She's surprised, having marched into the precinct prepared for a fight; maybe she was even hoping for one. But if the mayor won't interfere, she supposes there's no convincing to be done. Nobody to tell her she can't have what she doesn't want.

Montgomery hands her his flask, and she twists the cap even as she argues with herself about the need to dull anything with a drink. It's only when he continues to talk about Castle that she lifts it to her mouth and relishes in the slow burn, her throat left raw and her chest simmering as the alcohol settles.

"Only reason I kept him around this long is because I saw how good he was for you. Kate, you're the best I've ever trained, maybe the best I've ever seen, but you weren't having any fun before he came along. And unless my skills have slipped since I've been off the streets, I'm pretty sure you've been having even more fun in the last couple of months. But if you think that's changed suddenly, I'll trust you."

He steps forward to take the flask back and she misses the warmth immediately. "Why did you send him to talk to me? Do you really think we can't win this?"

There's a moment of surprise in the darkness of his eyes when she acknowledges his conversation with Castle; she'd considered being just as angry at Montgomery for thinking she's incapable of handing this case – and maybe the anger will be there no matter what she does – but he's still her captain and she'll give him the chance to speak his mind. She'd let Castle say plenty last night.

His sigh suggests he's already resigned to her stubbornness, but he offers a firm answer anyway. "No, I don't think we can win. With a case like this, there are no victories, there's only the battle, and the best that you can hope for is that you find someplace where you can make your stand. If this is your spot, I will stand with you. And regardless of whatever has happened between you, I think Castle will stand with you, too. But you need to decide whether it's worth the losses you'll face when it's over."

"It's my mother's case, Roy. I can't walk away now; she deserves more."

"We speak for the dead. That's the job. We are all they've got once the wicked rob them of their voices." He nods once, sharp and certain, as though he's always known he'd have this conversation with her one day. Maybe he has. "We owe them that, but we don't owe them our lives."

Silence falls around his words, and she wishes she could take them to heart. Instead, she slips out of his office and doesn't hear from him again until he calls to tell her they have a lead.

She doesn't see him again until he steps from the shadows of the hangar.

* * *

The ache that has been crackling in her bones since her fight with Castle numbs to nothing when she reads the text from the boys, their warning about the third cop stopping her short. She thinks she can hear her heartbeat echo off the hangar walls, though perhaps it's just her footsteps as she creeps closer to the truth; either way, the sound is destined to haunt.

She stays eerily calm through the narration of a story written many years ago, barely flinching when it concludes with a motherless rookie sliding under the wing of a guilt-ridden cop. Montgomery continues on, her questions doing little to direct him, and he refuses to give her the name she needs; it's only when she realizes that she isn't about to die at his hand that panic begins to breathe life into her. She doesn't want to act as bait, isn't looking for a sacrifice. Too many lives have been lost – among the living and the dead – and he looks certain that he will end it here. She doesn't want to leave him alone.

When Castle appears behind her, she knows she hasn't been given a choice.

She begs anyway.

Amid the subtle growl of the cars that have just arrived outside, a death sentence in tow, she pleads for Montgomery to listen to her, insists that he doesn't have to do this. He doesn't. Not for her, not for her mother. She's angry with him, of course, and she can't fathom how long it will take to reconcile his lies with the years of guidance he's given her. Still, she'll forgive his sins and let them burn bright with her own if he'll just stop whatever is about to happen.

Castle interrupts, distracting her again and _fuck_ , why is he even here? She needs Montgomery to understand and nobody is _listening_ to her and how has it all come to this, a late-night martyrdom that will leave another family devastated, a spouse in a lonely bed and kids without a parent?

When strong arms wrap around her body, she thrashes and cries, but she's too weak to matter anymore. She's carried from the hangar, from her captain, and she hurts with the awareness that the man she'd so desperately wanted to dismiss as a coward is embracing her with courage she's so rarely experienced herself. He's a bad dream and a sigh of relief.

"Rick, please."

They're clear of the hangar when he releases her just enough for her feet to find solid ground, still blanketing her body with his as they stumble toward his car. He presses against her, fortifying her with whatever he has to left to give, and slips a hand over her mouth in an attempt to quiet her pain, whispering a dirge of _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

She's sorry, too.

She seeks the warmth of his skin, her fingers trembling against his cheek, and when a chorus of gunshots rip apart the night, she only hopes her tear-blurred eyes convey what words cannot. This case has taken too much from all of them, and enough is enough.

* * *

She locks up behind Ryan and Esposito, turning to rest against the door and letting her head fall back with a dull thud. Her eyes are closed to the questions that will never have answers, the confession she wishes she'd never heard, and the whispers of blame that refuse her a moment of peace.

"Come here."

Her eyelids flicker open at the sound of Castle's voice and find him holding his hand out to her from where he settled on the couch after the boys said their goodbyes. His jacket is off, thrown over one of her chairs, his shoes kicked off nearby, and she takes the hint to remove the boots she hadn't realized she was still wearing. It's late – or maybe far too early – but there'd been no discussion about whether he should stay behind; where else would he be?

Eventually, she'll need to shower and change, force herself to the precinct for incident reports and interviews and multiple recitations of the story they've just agreed upon, but right now she needs to rest.

And she needs him.

So she makes her way to his side, unable to resist the outstretched arm that invites her closer, and lies down. She's easily curled along the length of the couch where he's left room, her head pillowed by his lap, and her breath stutters when he doesn't hesitate to comb his fingers through her hair. The tears come quick and hot, and she wants to be embarrassed by the way they're so obviously soaking through the soft fabric of his pants, but she can't care when there's no chance of them slowing anyway.

His hand is cautious and tender, and the repetitive strokes guide her breathing until it's no longer such a conscious effort. There are no platitudes to interrupt the rhythm they've found, promises worth little when the nightmare has yet to be shaken, and he simply allows her to cry.

There's no way to tell how long it takes her to find her voice again, but when she does, her declaration is delicately firm. "I want to speak at his funeral."

His surprise is only made obvious by the way the slide of his fingers falters for a moment, but his response is steady. "Okay. I'm sure we can make that happen. I can't imagine there's anyone who would have a problem with it."

"Do you think it's a stupid thing to do?"

"Kate, look at me for a second." He pulls his hand away and waits for her to roll onto her back. "Wanting to honor a man who loved you isn't stupid. Loving him back, remembering the things he's taught you over the years and the cop he's helped you become, isn't stupid. And wanting to stand in front of his colleagues, friends, and family to tell them that Roy Montgomery was a good man isn't stupid."

"But was he a good man, Castle?"

"He was flawed, but we all are. He made mistakes, but we all do." He sighs, the lines in his face deep. "But I got to see him as a husband and a father and a mentor to one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met and, yeah, I think he was a good man."

They're both quiet while she absorbs his certainty. Then her thoughts drift elsewhere, and the tears that had finally dried begin to fall again, skipping across her temples to land wet against her ears. "I'm so sorry, Castle. I'm so sorry. I don't want us to be over."

His words are rough with emotion, and he shakes his head. "We're not over. We never were. I've been right here, just waiting for you to see that I'm more than a partner."

"I think I saw it a long time ago," she whispers. "Accepting it has been a lot harder."

The exchange doesn't solve all their problems, but it's not about them right now, so she lets the rest go, closing her eyes for several seconds and gathering the strength for the last thing she needs to say; he pulls her hands into his while he waits her out.

Finally, she blinks up at him. "When I give the eulogy, would you consider-I mean, I'd really like it if you could be by my side."

It takes him so long to answer, and she's about to take back the request, insist that she'll be fine, but he clears his throat and murmurs, "I will always stand with you."

* * *

The morning of Montgomery's funeral, Castle arrives at her apartment, solemnly striking in all black. She'd considered asking her father to escort her to the cemetery, but ultimately she'd decided she would need to keep her focus on her other family, reminders of everything else she's lost a threat to the stability she's summoned for the day.

She lets him in, her hand full of the bobby pins she'll use to pull her hair back, the waves still unruly around her shoulders. "Sorry, I just need to do something with this mess."

"Let me."

There's a slight question in his tone, so she nods and passes the pins to him, wordlessly walking to a chair and knowing he'll follow. She relaxes when he gathers her hair, his practiced touch a comfort she hadn't expected. "Anything in particular?"

She gestures toward the dress cap resting on the coffee table. "I'll be wearing that, so something out of the way."

Little else is said once he's fastened her hair into a low bun, and they move in harmony to grab anything they might need before they leave. He stops her momentarily when they reach the front door, tipping his forehead toward hers and grounding her with the gentle squeeze of her hand and blue eyes that promise her they'll be okay.

As planned, they meet up with Ryan and Esposito before the service starts, their team as whole as they can be without the man who has led them for so long, and the boys stay close until it's time to proceed. The memorial is as beautiful as they could have hoped, the blue skies blessing them with a brightness they struggle to feel, and when it's time for her to take the flower-covered podium, she's ready to stand strong as she speaks for the dead.

Her memories of Roy Montgomery are fierce, and they keep her voice from wavering as she talks of choices and mistakes, victories and battles. She looks over the crowd and tells them of the things she learned from her captain, then turns her attention to Castle, overwhelmed with gratitude; her partner was a gift from a man who knew what she needed years before she was willing to admit it.

So little is clear to her after that.

The pain is both sharp and blunted, and she feels a chill before she's blanketed with warmth. She hears her name, the single syllable cutting repeatedly through the chaos that buzzes within her head, but chokes when she tries to find words herself. And she feels his presence more than she can see anything at all, the sunlight obscuring him in darkness above her.

He's pleading with her to stay with him and it's all she wants, the chance to do this right, but she's so scared that she's going to fail him one last time.

And she can't let that happen. Not when his words linger after the rest of the noise has gone.

"Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate."


	11. Rise (Epilogue)

It strikes her as strange when her consciousness so obviously returns before she gives any thought to opening her eyes; she's pretty sure both happen simultaneously when she awakens in any other situation. Then pain slices through her body, deep and unforgiving, and she knows this isn't like any other situation.

What the hell is going on?

She coaxes her eyes open just long enough for the bright white room to force them shut again, and she hears a low whine drag on for several seconds before she realizes it's coming from her. There's a hand on her shoulder almost immediately, clipped commands she doesn't understand from a voice she doesn't recognize, and then she's asleep again.

The cycle repeats a few times – or she thinks it does. Pain, lights, voices, and more sleep. She has no idea how long the delirium lasts before she claws her way back to the land of the living.

* * *

When she finally opens her eyes for more than a second, she sees her father sitting in a chair beside her and makes a noise to get his attention. There are immediate flashes of memories, a violent thunderstorm in her head, and she needs help making sense of it all before the anxiety swells to a level she can't control. She wants to reach for him, but even breathing hurts, and she hasn't figured out how to make the rest of her body work.

The relief washing over Jim's face is obvious, and she knows she must have been in bad shape to have worried him so. He wraps his fingers loosely around her wrist, careful not to disturb the tubes that run the length of her forearm, and tells her the story of a sniper at her captain's funeral, knowing better than to hold anything back, even as she fades in and out of sleep. Lack of answers will only bring more questions, so she hears about Ryan and Esposito's efforts to find the person – or people – responsible. She hears about the way Lanie has helped translate the medical jargon, keeping everyone calm with a concise explanation of gunshot wounds, surgical procedures, and the expected post-operative recovery process. And she hears all about Castle, a man her father seems to respect more by the minute.

She's captivated by her father's description of Castle's dive toward her, the way her partner had reacted before anyone else knew what was going on. It strikes her as similar, yet critically different from what had happened at Lockwood's arraignment several days ago; though they'd each knocked the other down in the face of danger, Castle's instinct had driven him into the line of fire. The comparison frightens her, the ease with which he chose to save her, never the coward and always her hero.

Once she's learned as much as she can, disrupted only by her own bouts of unconsciousness and the care of her nurses, she offers Jim a grateful and sleepy nod before making one request.

"Will you please call Castle for me? I want to see him."

* * *

Castle is so hesitant when he approaches her bedside with a bouquet of flowers and only a hint of hope, and it further breaks her already damaged heart. There is still a lot she needs to fix between them, but she figures it won't hurt to open with a joke, her voice weak but her will strong.

"Heard you got into a fight with someone on my ER team. Is Dr. Motorcycle Boy going to be the villain of the next Nikki Heat book?"

He chokes out a laugh as he settles into the chair her father had occupied earlier and takes one of her hands between both of his. "Probably not my best moment, but what are the odds that the one time Josh wasn't off saving the world, he was busy saving my girlfriend instead?"

"Your girlfriend, huh?" She smiles shyly, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. "Is that what I am?"

"Only until you're ready for more."

And, god, that says so much. More than they've managed in most of their conversations.

Shaking her head, she whispers, "I'm sorry I've screwed this up so terribly."

"Yeah, I'm not sure I've ever read a Cosmo tip that included getting shot in the chest as a way to improve a relationship."

"You read a lot of Cosmo? That explains a ton." She feels good – her physical pain aside – but he can't let her off the hook this easily, and she forces herself to continue until he understands. "I'm serious, Castle. You were right when you accused me of hiding. Of chasing this thing for too long. I've been selfish and blind and stubborn, and I can't do it anymore. I almost died and all I could think about was you. I just want you."

It takes him a second to stand and work around the bedrails and machines, but his kiss is intimate and reassuring, and her heart is that much closer to settling into a comfortable rhythm. His hand comes up to brush wisps of hair from her eyes before he lets his fingertips trace the curve of her smile. Then he looks sheepish, and the flicker of concern in his eyes confuses her until he clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Um, can you hold onto that thought? Because I want you, too, and the good news is we are about to get a _lot_ of each other. Probably for the next several weeks."

"We're _what_? And why?" She freezes in her hospital bed, heartfelt confessions dumped onto the cold tile floor as she tilts her head. "How much am I _not_ going to like whatever you're about to say?"

"There weren't a lot of great options, really. You're going to need a lot of help when you're released, and I would never make your dad do that alone, and it will just be easier if you're at the loft where I can be at your beck and call. And come on, being able to boss me around all day? It will be just like the 12th, but with more expensive furniture."

"You think I'm moving in with you?"

"I think you're recuperating at the loft." He winks and she gets her eyes ready to roll. "The moving in can happen once you've fully recovered."

She doesn't have the opportunity to argue – and she isn't convinced she wants to anyway – a nurse interrupting them to change the IV bag and check Kate's vitals. Seeing his chance to escape further questions about his plans for their future, Castle hurries to lean over the bed once more, pressing another soft kiss to her mouth.

"Get some rest. I'll be back later tonight and we can talk more."

He starts to pull away, but she tugs him close again, mumbling against his lips so the nurse can't overhear her.

"I'm looking forward to it. And, Castle? I love you, too."

* * *

 _Three months later_

The sunset is everything she had dreamed it would be. The wine might be even better.

But the man sitting by her side is the best.

She and Castle had arrived in Napa Valley in time for a relaxing lunch, then spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the grounds of their inn, enjoying the view and the gorgeous California weather and taking a quick dip in the pool before dinner. She's excited about the winery tours and tastings that will keep them busy tomorrow, but it's been wonderful to keep a lighter schedule after their six-hour flight. They'll be spending a few days in wine country before they need to return to their responsibilities, but for now they're curled together on the patio of their cottage, sipping one of the local wines and soaking up the pinks and purples swirled over the horizon.

The vacation is fulfillment of a promise made months ago and a reward for making it through a summer that could have driven them apart for good.

It had been easy enough to go along with Castle's plan to keep her at the loft during her recovery; the hospital's drugs had been an excellent buffer against any possible arguments to the contrary. The reality of it was much harder – on everyone involved, really – and they've had their share of passionate fights over the past several weeks. Some stemmed from Alexis's rather cool reaction to Kate's presence and from Martha's typically ebullient desire to help, suddenly suffocating in its intensity. Others started after her father checked in on her too many times or Lanie and the boys stopped by unannounced, Kate unwilling to see or talk to anyone during her weakest moments. And she knows several fights resulted from her lingering concern that Castle would decide she simply wasn't worth the trouble anymore. That last problem has been the focus of more than one of her mandated therapy sessions, and she's grateful that Dr. Burke continues to help her work past such a damning insecurity.

She and Castle both deserve better.

As for her shooting and its connection to the deaths of both Captain Montgomery and Johanna Beckett, the investigation has been officially curtailed, the new captain considering the case cold. They've got copies of the files at the loft and her team will continue to work it on the side, but she's insisted that their safety is more important than the answers she's been obsessed with for too long. None of them need to attend another funeral of someone they love, no more lives should be lost to a tragedy that was never destined for a truly happy ending.

She'll get justice for her mom, even if it's not today. Today is a celebration of the future, as she awaits the results of her final psych evaluation and her return to the precinct next week; she's already received full physical clearance and is grateful that the worst of her pain is behind her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Castle asks, brushing his thumb over the hand entwined with his.

Her head falls back, heavy from the wine and her mirth. "Come on, you're a multi-millionaire. You're gonna have to give me a lot more than a penny."

"Oh, really? Well, in that case, I rescind my offer. Besides, I know you well enough that I can guess what's on your mind."

It's true, but she smirks anyway. "Go ahead then. What's on my mind?"

He tilts his head, his exaggerated concentration causing her to push back a laugh with the glass she holds to her lips. "Okay, there are a few things happening in there."

"Just a few?"

"Shhhhh, Beckett, don't interrupt me." He clears his throat and begins again. "First, you're thinking about you mom's case. Not in the bad ways that used to hurt you, but in the ways I've seen you embrace over the summer. You're hopeful, but realistic, and no longer driven by anger and vengeance. You know we'll get the bad guy eventually. Second, you're nervous about going back to work. It's a love of yours, but you've never been away from it like this, and it will be different when you step back into the bullpen for the first time. You're wondering about the new captain, and whether you'll be as extraordinary as you always were before."

The word takes her breath away, just as it had the first time he'd used it to describe her, but she protests nonetheless. "Castle, we may need to find a less complimentary adjective for me."

"Well, tall works, too. It just doesn't have the same emotional _oomph_ to it."

She hums her agreement, then arches an eyebrow toward him. "Anything else, my clairvoyant one?"

He doesn't answer right away; instead, he slips the now-empty wine glass from her fingers and sets it aside with his. Then he cradles the side of her face with his hand and draws her closer, their mouths easily opening for a kiss, quiet moans witnessed only by the darkening night. The kiss itself isn't anything they haven't shared a hundred times before, but the setting makes it magical, and she can't help the whine that escapes when he pulls away.

"I'm pretty sure you're also thinking about how awesome it is to kiss me." He touches his mouth to her jaw and hums against her skin, sliding upward until his hot breath teases her ear and rocks her body with arousal. "You're thinking about how fortunate you are to get to kiss me every day, and what a shame it is that you waited so long to give in to my charm."

She'd roll her eyes or push him away or chastise him for his unabashed arrogance, but it's difficult to do anything when she wants to press her body into his, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and legs twisted with his until they're a tangled mess on the patio loveseat. When it's all too much, or maybe not enough, she fumbles her way to her feet and drags him with her into the cottage. They keep tripping over themselves, their path anything but easy, and it's a fitting summary of their entire relationship, the inability to move forward without a few bumps and bruises along the way. In between kisses, she just smiles.

They finally reach the bed, million-count sheets beckoning, and she sucks on his neck as she slips her hands beneath his shirt. "Not bad, Castle, but you were only partially right about that last one."

His eyes blaze dark and needy, and his lips part around the words he can't seem to find; she takes pity on him and explains.

"I'm thinking about doing so much more than kissing."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for your incredible support and encouragement throughout this story. I've never had this kind of response to a fic and I'm overwhelmed by the kindness so many of you have shown. Some of you have been more critical, but I've sincerely enjoyed the chance to go back and forth with you, and it's helped me be more confident in my own choices along the way. Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to challenge myself! -morgan


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